


Bewitched by You

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 66,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: Bucky's attempt to stop Loki (from what? No one's really sure, but this is Loki, so it can't be good) leads to accidentally kidnapping Hermione Granger, the only Muggle-born witch to survive a massacre that rocked the Wizarding world. Bucky wants to protect her, Loki wants to use her, and Hermione doesn't even know how she fits into the world, anymore.





	1. The Worst of Many Bad Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a canon-divergent AU for both verses. Some elements from the canon storylines will still have taken place/be present, others will not (please note, the bulk of this story was written prior to Civil War's release in theaters).  
> **********  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Any affiliated characters or canon components are the property of their respective franchise owners. I make no profit, in any form, from this work.

  **Chapter One**   

The Worst of Many Bad Ideas

 

Bucky's eyebrows shot up as he looked over the file. "Loki?" 

 

Sighing, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Bucky had just gotten himself untangled from all this, and here Steve was pulling him back in. "I know, I'm sorry, but we need someone we can trust."

With a frown, Bucky flicked his gaze toward the window. On the other side, the rest of the team—waiting for Steve,  _and_  for Bucky's answer—conspicuously turned away, as though they  _all_  suddenly found the street behind them utterly fascinating at the same moment.

"But they  _don't_  trust me."

Steve's shoulders drooped. Damn. He never could lie to Bucky. "Fine," he said, shaking his head. " _I_  trust you, and  _they're_  low on options."

Bucky nodded and sat back. That wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, but at least it was honest. And, after everything he'd done—had been  _made_  to do, really, but that was a matter of semantics, he supposed—he knew perfectly well he couldn't expect any other response.

"Look, I didn't even want to bring you in on this, but we're operating on one man's suspicions. There's no way to report this through official channels, so we need someone who  _isn't_  official."

"Fury can't  _possibly_  have okay'ed this."

"Well, we kind of left him out of this decision," Steve admitted, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment. He wouldn't mention the blanket response they'd gotten when they'd approached Fury about this potential problem. The party-line these days was about how resources were tied up in rebuilding SHIELD, and investigating their nifty new wormhole tech. Well, almost all—it was also  _suggested_  that their team had more pressing matters to deal with than chasing ghosts.

Or—Steve's personal favorite response—they all had itchy trigger-fingers after everything they'd dealt with, and were seeing enemies where there were none. He was also far too aware that Fury was only one of many who didn't  _want_  Loki to still be alive. Refusing to give a scant possibility the time of day should hardly be a surprise.

Once more, Bucky glanced through the glass. Thor had his head down, but from the angle, Bucky could see a look of pained concentration on the Asgardian's face.  _God_  of Thunder, trying to eavesdrop. Yup, that was dignified.

The man had reason to believe that his wicked step-brother had somehow survived the events on the Dark World. However—because that sentence, by itself, didn't smack of insanity—since Loki hadn't made any overt moves, as of yet, that had to mean he was up to something.

Not that babysitting the planet while the Avengers tripped off-world didn't sound like  _loads_  of fun, but . . . .

Shaking his head, Bucky braced his gloved hands against the table and pushed up to stand. "There's no way leaving  _me_  in charge of anything is a good idea."

He was still having nightmares about crimes he could only recall in snippets, or didn't remember, at all, but which others had  _delighted_  in filling him in on in graphic detail. Several times he'd stopped himself just short of lashing out at those around him after waking dreams.

Steve really couldn't expect him to do this. Even _repaired,_ as he was considered, Bucky knew he still had the potential to be dangerous. The Avengers should stick him in a box and leave him there, and they all knew it.

But then, he realized that should also probably tell him how desperate they were.

"Please, Buck?" Steve met his friend's gaze, his expression serious. "He could be wrong, it could be nothing. Maybe he's just paranoid, but I  _can't_  leave this to chance."

_Hell_.  _I'm in hell._  Setting his jaw, Bucky shook his head again. He couldn't  _believe_ he was going to say this. "Okay." He blinked a few times as he swallowed hard. "I will keep an eye out, and if I  _can_  help, I will. But that's  _all_  I can promise."

The tension drained out of Steve, but he didn't smile. Instead, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a few folded pages. He was all too aware of Bucky's eyes narrowing, following the movement as Steve set the small paper bundle atop the file.

"Should I even ask?"

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, Steve said, "Thor had . . . visions of a few locations. He thinks Loki might have be at one of them, or have plans that involve them."

Nodding, Bucky—despite how very much he disliked the situation—held in a chuckle. Now he understood the look discomfort that had just flitted across Steve's face. Gods  _and_  visions? This just kept getting better and better!

"Don't worry, they're all in the city. No unfamiliar territory for you. It just wasn't like we could include this in the dossier."

Sighing heavily, Bucky nodded as he unfolded the hand-written pages.

Huh. Asgardians had crappy handwriting. Who knew?

* * *

As they walked away, Tony didn't even glance over his shoulder toward the diner. He didn't want to trust  _anything_  to the Winter Soldier. Not a goddamned thing.

Shit, he was actually  _hoping_ Thor had simply lost his mind, wasn't he?

"You know this is a really bad idea, right?" he finally asked, breaking the tense silence of the team.

"We've been over this. If the threat's real, then we don't have much choice," Natasha said, her voice low as she exchanged a look with Steve.

"I know it's a bad idea." Steve nodded, a frown gracing his lips. "And so does  _he_."

* * *

**One Week Later . . . .**

Snapping the tome shut, Loki dropped his heels down from the tabletop and sat forward. The orb had lit up. After so many days of  _nothing_  since finding the relic, at last something was going his way.

He grinned as he snatched up the glass sphere. Plumes of varied colors swirled, shifting and morphing until they formed into a moving image.

There she was, the  _last_  of the Earthbound Witches. A slender young woman with wild golden-brown hair—she appeared tired and nervous. A thoughtful frown tugged the corners of his mouth downward as he gave a half-nod. That should work to his advantage, actually.

Holding the orb closer, he watched as she stepped out of a large mass-transit vehicle. Right out onto a New York street.

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he stood and began gathering his things. There was no way to tell when this would happen, only that she  _was_ the one necessary, and she would be at that location, soon.

Best he be there as quickly as possible. How nice it would be for her, to have someone greet her the moment she arrived.

* * *

**And Three Days After . . . .**

Hermione closed her eyes, fidgeting as the bus rolled to a stop. There was nothing worse than this, she was sure. Pulling her jacket more tightly around herself, she opened her eyes again, looking out the window as the wheels kicked into motion beneath her, once more.

After the last few times, she wasn't certain where the map she'd created was leading her, anymore. She'd spelled it to lead her to other Muggle-born witches and wizards, but . . . .

Swallowing hard, she blinked rapidly to keep her tears at bay. Maybe the reports after the Ministry's fall had been correct, after all. Voldemort's dark influence had traveled  _so_ far before he'd finally been stopped. That it might've seeped through the whole of the Wizarding world was terrifying.

Even so, it was difficult to grasp that she might truly be the only one left.

Chestnut eyes tracing rooftops against the sky, she tried to quell the sick feeling of ice churning in the pit of her stomach. Her own escape . . . . Well, she was certain she'd had unspoken help. If she hadn't acted _right_ then, she might be dead right along with the others.

Those previous searches had brought her to dormant magical Artifacts. Muggle antique shops were usually lousy with them. She'd bought the items, just in case they might prove useful in her search, but other than that, her mission was proving a spectacular failure.

Honestly, she wished she  _had_  taken Harry's offer to go with her. But the young man with the lightning bolt scar was far too recognizable to their kind.

The Dark spell might've been broken, but she couldn't take any chances.

A pulse jolted through her, and she started. Opening the bag she carried 'round her wrist, she rummaged about, glancing at the other passengers as she did so. The  _last_  thing she needed was for any of these Muggles to see her up to her elbow in a bag that was no bigger than a textbook.

Extracting the hand-drawn map, Hermione unfolded it delicately. She held it tilted toward her, so no one might glimpse the blinking spot of red glaring from the sepia parchment.

Trailing from her currently-moving location, to the indicator on the map with a fingertip, she looked out the window, once more. The scale of her drawing meant whoever—or, disappointingly, whatever—she was looking for was somewhere close to the next stop.

She inhaled deeply, trying to steel her nerves as she pressed the chorded tape to alert the driver. It seemed a small blessing to her that American Muggle mass-transit really  _could_  take one anywhere. Her limbs screamed at her as she stood from her seat and began making her way to the rear door of the bus.

She hadn't had a good night's sleep in so long; she could swear her muscles had aged decades from the lack of rest, alone.

As the bus pulled to a stop, she found she once more had to beat back a sick feeling of trepidation. Hermione frowned. She wasn't normally this edgy, even as exhausted as she was.

No. There was  _something_  . . . . She could sense it winding through the air, only not clearly enough to tell what it was.

Something was  _going_  to happen today.

* * *

Bucky rounded the corner, shaking his head as he started down the block. He'd been routinely circling the locations, and so far nothing. But this neighborhood was the one he liked the least. It was quiet, and dull . . . . Rundown apartment buildings, hovelled mom-and-pop shops, small factories; passersby were scattered, few and far between. Even traffic through this section of the city seemed scarce.

The subdued environment would be enough to make anyone edgy, he thought. Like there was something _wrong_ with this place.

But then Bucky saw him. Stepping out the door of a little shop was Loki—in one of the predicted locations. Bucky's frame slumped a little.  _Fantastic._  Thor's suspicions had been right, after all.

The jet-haired man wore a determined look on his face as he crossed the street and continued on at a steady pace. Not rushed, but at an obvious, calculated stride.

Bucky was familiar with that sort of movement. Hunter and prey.

Loki was  _looking_  for something, and knew where to find it.

Glancing around, Bucky took stock of the area—noting street corners, storefronts, doorways, alleys, even the cars parked nearby, and a long-unfinished construction site in an empty lot—before moving to pursue Loki.

After a few blocks, Loki paused, watching something. Bucky slowed his footfalls, following the other man's line of sight. A city bus was rolling to a stop on the opposite corner, and something about that caused a grin to curve Loki's mouth.

A spike of alarm shot through Bucky. Loki wasn't looking for some _thing_. He was waiting for some _one_.

He clamped down on the instinct to confront Loki. If he was as strong as that file said, this could turn into a combat situation, fast. Drawing attention to himself with that sort of grand-scale melee was not an option. Steve and the others would probably want whatever information the target could give them about what was happening. Bucky didn't imagine they would be thrilled if the person Loki was hunting was hurt—or killed—in the scuffle.

But that left him precious little in the way of plans. Once more, Bucky looked around. The only option might be to catch Loki by surprise.

* * *

Hermione stepped onto the sidewalk, the stone surface beneath her feet so pitted she could feel it through the soles of her trainers. The door of the bus snapped shut behind her and she immediately found herself looking about for a quiet spot to check the map, again.

Her face fell as she took in the area around her. It seemed  _all_ of it was a quiet spot. Unnerving, really. "Bloody hell," she murmured, forcing a gulp down her throat.

"My dear, there you are," a voice called from behind her in a warm, jovial tone.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her stomach knotted. She didn't have a wand, anymore. Her captors had broken it . . . . She had a book somewhere in her bag on wand-crafting, but she'd had yet to master that, leaving her only able to cast small charms, at best.

Enough to create a distraction if things got sticky, she reminded herself as she pivoted on her heel to face the speaker.

A tall, lanky man with long, black hair and green eyes approached. Those features struck at her heart a moment. So much like Harry's . . . . but as he drew closer, her pulse hammered in her skull.

Something was wrong, here. Whatever he was, he was _no_  wizard. Putting the hand with her bag behind her, she backpedaled a step. He was so pretty, though.

But then, so were the Malfoys, she thought, being deliberately cruel to herself to keep her brain working.

Gauging her reaction to him, Loki held up both hands in a sign of surrender as he drew near. "No need to fear me. I know what you are, and of what you are capable."

Hermione darted her gaze about, before meeting his eyes. If he knew, then it was probably best she not let on about the no-wand issue.

"A wise person  _always_  treats a stranger addressing them as a friend with caution."

Loki's brows shot up as he nodded. He stilled his steps, his hands still up. "Then, perhaps, I will let you come to me?"

She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to show how unsettled his demeanor made her. "And why would I come to you?"

Frowning, Loki made a tutting sound. Dropping his arms, he folded them across his chest, achieving a much more relaxed posture.

Hermione lifted her heel from the ground, balancing on the ball of her foot and shifting her weight to her front leg, ready to bolt. Despite his words just a few moments ago about knowing what she was capable of, he had absolutely  _no_  fear of her.

And _that_  was terrifying.

"Because," he said, offering her a charming grin, "you have _nowhere_  else to go, do you?"

How could he know that? Who was he? She wanted to spit the questions at him, but there wasn't time. She had to keep moving if what she sought wasn't here.

She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on him as she began to speak one of her charms, " _Confund_ —"

The sharp crack of metal on bone cut through that single word and she stared in shock as the dark-haired man crumbled to one knee.

She shook her head before she looked up. Honestly, she'd been so focused on his face, she never saw the strike coming. Behind him stood another man, a little shorter than the first, but broader of build, with brown hair just long enough to brush his shoulders.

In his hands he clutched a hunk of metal that rightly looked  _far_  too heavy to be wielded with ease, let alone used as a weapon. And how the black-haired man wasn't  _dead_  from that hit was beyond her.

Dropping the shorn beam, Bucky made a waving gesture, signaling the girl toward him. "Move!"

She jumped to follow the instruction—whoever this man was, he didn't emit the strange, intimidating aura the other one did—giving the stunned man a wide berth. Not wide enough, she realized too late.

Loki shot out a hand, putting strength into the motion, just as she passed him. Her slight,  _Midgardian_  frame connected with his outstretched arm and she was knocked backward.

Hermione landed with a resounding thud, the side of her head impacting the broken pavement. She winced at the pain rocketing through her skull as her vision blurred.

"Shit," Bucky hissed from between pursed lips as he bent to reclaim his discarded weapon. So much for avoiding combat.

"I do not know who you are," Loki whispered, a vicious grin twisting his lips—his head  _actually_  hurt. Whoever this man was, he  _would_  pay. "But this girl is  _mine_!"

Bucky swung as Loki climbed to his feet. He nearly expected it when Loki caught the shorn hunk of metal in his bare hand. He didn't need to knock Loki out—there wasn't time for that, he had to get that girl away from here—he just needed to stun him, again.

_I do not know who you are_ , Loki'd said. Good, then he wouldn't know what was coming. Pulling on the beam with his right arm, Bucky swung around with his left, catching Loki in the jaw.

Shocked, more than hurt, by the force of the punch—this was  _no_  simple Midgardian—Loki slackened his grip.

Bucky took the opportunity, wrenching the beam from Loki's grasp. He swung again, striking Loki hard enough to propel him several feet. Loki landed hard on his back, a surprised cough tearing out of him, but Bucky was already moving before Loki had hit the ground.

Rushing to the girl's side, he hoisted her up; he didn't have the luxury to worry about her dazed expression, or the crimson trickling along her temple, at the moment.

As he tossed her over his shoulder, he flipped through the mental catalog he'd made of the area. He took off at a run, still hefting his makeshift weapon in his free hand.

Bucky glanced back just as he rounded a building on the nearest corner. He had to move faster, Loki was getting to his feet.

Dropping the beam and shifting his hold on her to carry her in front of him—the last thing he needed right now was for someone to think  _he_  had hurt this girl—he spied a man just pulling up in a car that would _have_  to do.

As the man switched off the ignition and climbed out, Bucky ran to him. The driver was too startled to react as Bucky snatched the keys from his hand and opened the door. He could just dump her in the car and drive off, but maybe a more  _human_  approach was likely to buy them a little time before anyone alerted the authorities.

"I'm sorry," he said, purposely rushing his words so the man had no moment to gather his wits and argue. "She's hurt  _bad_ , I need to get her to the hospital. I'll bring your car right back _here_ once I drop her at the ER. I promise."

He pushed the girl through onto the passenger seat and hopped in, slamming the door shut. At this rate, he was going to kill her by accident.

Shoving the key in the ignition, he started the car and peeled off. In the rear view mirror, he could see Loki rounding the corner just behind them. There was little relief in the image of the now  _definitely_  angry Frost Giant-slash-Asgardian growing smaller, and eventually vanishing in the distance.

After several minutes of non-stop driving, he pulled to a halt at a red light. Looking at the girl in the passenger seat, Bucky frowned. She was worryingly still.

Reaching out, he touched a two fingertips to the side of her throat. He let out a breath. She was alive, that was good, just unconscious.

Taking a moment, he leaned across her, securing the passenger side seatbelt around her and wiping the blood from her face with the sleeve of his jacket. He couldn't exactly pop up on SHIELD's doorstep. His own history with that organization—they weren't likely to believe a word he said about  _anything_  without Steve there to back him up—  _and_  the team's choice to leave Fury out of their decision to bring him in on this had seen to that. Bringing her to a hospital, though it would be the smart thing, didn't seem like an option, either. What he'd overheard Loki say to the girl made it sound like perhaps she was on the run from something.

_I do not know who you are, but this girl is_ mine _!_ Whatever that something might be, it was clear that  _she_  was what Loki was after.

He had to put her somewhere safe, out of Loki's reach, until the others came back. Bucky winced at the thought as he glanced out each side of the car, in turn. Would that mean leaving the city?

The light turned green, and he hit the accelerator, shaking his head as he locked his gaze on the road.

He'd just kidnapped a girl, and stolen a car. He doubted that doing those things in the name of saving the day made any of it right.

His shoulders slumped and he chewed the inside of his lip. Yup, Steve was  _going_  to kill him.


	2. Bitter Memories & Midgardian Things

**Chapter Two**

Bitter Memories & Midgardian Things

_Hermione bit hard on the inside of her bottom lip, keeping her eyes shut tightly and her body perfectly still as she lay on her side on the floor, facing the back wall of the cell. She fought to keep her breaths shallow and even, so he might be fooled._

_But every footfall echoing in her ears caused her heart to break further._

_"Granger . . . ?"_

_Even the sound of his whispered voice hurt._

_He sighed and hung his head when she didn't stir. This was his last chance, but he didn't know what more he could do. He got her into this, and now the only way out for her . . . ._

_Well, it wouldn't be pretty for_ him _._

_"I wanted to say I'm sorry," he said, pausing for a moment to draw in a shivering breath. "I know that means shit to you after everything that's happened. . . . After everything I've done. It'll all be over, soon. Vol—the Dark Lord has set your execution for tomorrow morning."_

_Hermione struggled not to react. It had finally come to pass. Voldemort had always said she would be_ special  _. . . . Her death would only come after his Curse had done its work._

_Only when she was the last dirty-blooded one left._

_She forced a gulp down her throat, swallowing her tears._

_"I just needed you to know . . . ." Another shuddering sigh fell from his lips as he shook his head. "Even if you hate me until your very last breath, I just need you to know that I never meant for it to come to this."_

_She heard his steps retreating toward the cell door. The sound of it creaking open jarred her bones._

_He spoke again, his voice oddly thick. "I hope maybe, I dunno, in some other life, you'll be able to forgive me."_

_The door swung shut and she listened to his footfalls until they reached the end of the corridor, dropping beyond the range of her hearing._

_Sitting up, she opened her eyes, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks despite that she'd kept her tears in. She sniffled, shifting to glance around her_ cage _when she realized . . . ._

_She'd not heard the_ thunk _of the bolt sliding into place._

_Snapping her head around, she looked to the door. The light slicing in thin lines through the bars on either side severed cleanly across the space between them and the door._

He hadn't locked it.

_She was afraid to go check. This could be a trap. Something to bring her execution all the more swiftly. She couldn't trust him, not after what he'd done._

_Yet . . . ._

_If she didn't move now, if she didn't_ try _, she was dead, anyway._

_Wincing at the ache the movement caused in her joints, Hermione stood. The sound of her own footsteps beneath her as she crossed the cell floor seemed terrifyingly loud in her ears. But not nearly as loud or terrifying as the creaking of the door as she eased it open a hair's breadth at a time._

_Poking her head around, she glanced up and down the corridor, surprised to find it empty. Not like they expected her to go anywhere._

_She opened the door just a little further, enough to slip from the cell._

_For a painful moment, she only stood there, uncertain quite what to do._ They _were all over this place she had no hope of getting past whatever lay beyond the far end of this corridor._

_She felt the breeze against her skin, then. Holding in a surprised breath, Hermione turned toward the other end of the passage. The stained glass window had been pushed outward. Still latched, she could see even from here how the lacquered wood frame strained against the metal clasp._

_The gap was probably_ just _wide enough for her to wriggle through, though the effort was likely going to earn her a fair amount of scrapes and bruises. Maybe a broken rib, or two. Small price to pay for survival._

_Though she didn't dare to look, she would wager a guess that if she_ did  _check, the lock on the cell was probably broken, adding to the illusion that she'd somehow made her escape on her own. She shook her head, getting her bearings before she darted to the window to look out._

_It was a bit of a drop, but she_ could  _make it._

_Forcing a steadying breath, she slid her arms through the opening. But fabric brushing her hand drew her attention._

_She pulled back, tugging the object free from the ledge. Her handbag?_

_A confused pout playing on her lips, she turned into over in her fingers . . . . And heard a distinct jingling sound. That wasn't right. Her bag should be empty, after all, they'd taken_ everything _of hers._

_Opening the bag, she reached a hand inside, coming out with a fistful of Sickles and Galleons. And with the silver and gold coins she found a folded bit of parchment._

_Opening it, she felt her heart break all over again._

* * *

"The War's coming," she said, her voice somber as she lay with her head cradled against the hollow of his shoulder.

"I know." He trailed his fingers along the side of her face as they stared up at the perfect, cloudless sky. "We've done all we can to stop it, and we  _failed_."

She slid her hand up over his, holding his palm against her cheek. "What'll we do when it reaches us?"

He chuckled, but they both knew the jovial sound was forced. "Fight, of course."

"No." Shaking her head, she shifted, rising up on an elbow to meet his eyes. "I mean what do  _we_  do?"

He sighed, dropping his gaze from hers. "Granger, please, don't—"

"What do we do if the War forces one of us down a path where the other can't follow?"

A pained expression flickered across his features at the way her voice sounded. That hollow, tear-thickened whisper.

He sat up, cupping her cheek. For a silent moment, he dropped his head, pressing a kiss against the top of her wild hair.

"Then you run."

"Run?" she echoed, nearly as though she didn't understand. They'd been trained as soldiers, a sad fact they'd only realized in these last few months.

_Did_  soldiers run? She had no idea.

Lifting her face in his hands so their gazes met, he nodded. "You run, and you just  _keep_  running. Until you don't have to look over your shoulder anymore."

* * *

Just. Keep. Running. _She traced the words on the slip of parchment with a trembling fingertip._

_Putting the paper away, she forced a sniffle and shook her head. "Draco, you idiot. You know they may kill you for this," she whispered, even as she slipped through the gap in the window._

_She still didn't know if soldiers ran, but she knew they didn't let others risk their lives in vain._

* * *

Loki stormed inside, the door swinging shut in a violent motion in his wake. He bared his teeth at the orb, barely refraining from hurling it across the room.

No, such a display of anger would accomplish nothing. It would shatter the orb, and possibly tear a hole straight through whichever wall he aimed it toward.

He settled instead for bringing his fist down against the table in the center of the room. His shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes as it shattered to the floor. Damn Midgardian furniture.

Everything here was so bloody fragile!

Sitting down . . .  _carefully_ , he placed the orb on another decidedly frail little table beside the arm chair. Less chance he crush the relic in another fit of irritation.

"Wretched Midgardian brute," he said in a whisper, the words spilling from between his lips in a hiss.

Yes, this was all  _his_  fault. And he would pay. Loki hadn't  _intended_ to injure the girl . . . he'd only meant to stop her, but he'd not expected her to be so  _breakable_. Why weren't  _even_  the Witches here sturdy?

But no. That oaf's interference—Loki curled his fingers into a fist, stopping the thought. He was going around in circles, and stewing served no purpose, either.

He'd simply shove his anger to the back of his mind and let it out when he caught up to them.

No, shaking his head, he turned his gaze to the orb to await the next indicator.

What he had to focus on now was  _her_. Witches were not as easy to coerce as non-magical Midgardians, and her memory of him harming her would  _not_ bode well for his attempts at winning her to his cause.

Sighing, he propped an elbow on the armrest and dropped his chin down into his hand as he waited.

He would have to give her a reason to trust him. Or at least a reason to _want_  to trust him . . . . Something that could lead her to overlook that _minor_ incident at their first meeting.

And  _then_  he would concern himself with finding amusing and delightful ways of making that Midgardian brute pray for death.

* * *

Bucky heard the shifting of leather on the seat beside his and glanced over. A pair of confused chestnut-brown eyes stared back at him.

He started just a little at how intently she was looking at him, before he turned his gaze back to the road. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he realized he had absolutely no fucking clue what to say to this woman to explain what had happened.

Well, except for the  _truth_. Which might send her combat-rolling from the car despite her head injury just to get away from him, considering how utterly bat-shit it would all sound.

"So . . . ." Hermione started, as much to sort the situation aloud as to break the awkward silence. And to distract from the absolutely  _stunning_  pain lacing the side of her head. "I'm to take it you rescued me from that odd man in the street, then?"

For some reason—maybe it was how easily she assessed what had happened while she'd been dazed, or what a startling contrast her calm tone was to the panicked freak out he was expecting from her—Bucky found himself  _laughing_.

After a moment, he drew a breath, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She had the fingers of one hand pressed against her swollen temple as her eyebrows drew together.

"Have I said something funny?"

"No, it's just, um, calling  _that_  guy odd was such an understatement. I couldn't help it." He cleared his throat, his expression sobering as he said, "Look, it's going to all sound  _completely_  nuts, but I'll tell you what's going on. Anything you want to ask first?"

"Where is he?" she asked as she turned to look out the back window.

"Still back in Manhattan, I think?" He pointed to a road sign coming up. "And we're on our way Upstate. Unless he can fly, I'm pretty sure we've put a bit of distance between us and him."

Again, he gave a start—this time at the serious expression she adopted in response to his joke.

"I hope to Merlin he  _can't_  fly," she whispered, wide-eyed.

Bucky just  _barely_  refrained from stopping the car in the middle of the night-darkened road—empty though it was—to give her a long, hard look. Instead, he merely glanced at her from the corner of his eye, once more.

But suddenly he was wondering which one of them had the more interesting story to tell.

"Are we going somewhere safe?" She pulled her feet up onto her seat and wrapped her arms around her legs, appearing impossibly small in comparison to . . . well,  _him_ sitting beside her.

"I certainly hope so. Where that might be? No clue. We just . . . need somewhere to lay low for a few days."

Hermione had heard those words before. From Harry, after she'd reunited with him. He knew when word broke of her escape, everyone would look to him.

_You'll just have to lay low for a few days. When it's over, I'll come get you, I_  promise _._

And he had.

"Okay," she said, nodding. "Tell me."

Broad shoulders drooping, Bucky sighed. And gave her the lengthy explanation of everything. The Asgardians, Steve's involvement in the Super Soldier program, the Avengers—since whatever was going on in  _her_ version of the world had meant she'd never even heard of them before.

Lastly, he filled her in about who—and  _what_ —he was, as that was key to how he tied into all this.

"So . . . you're an experimental, formerly brain-washed super-soldier with a  _cybernetic_  arm?"

Sighing again, he took his hands from the wheel just long enough to wrench the glove from his left and flexed his fingers for her. The orange light of the intermittent streetlamps glinted off metal.

Her eyebrows shot up and she sat a little straighter. "Oh. There's something you don't see every day."

Bucky's bottom lip poked outward in a confused pout. He'd expected . . . . Well, okay, he wasn't quite sure what he expected from her after the world's most bizarre introduction, but much more of a fuss, that was for sure.

"And so Loki and Thor, they're aliens, but there  _also_  the Loki and Thor the Viking myths are based on?"

"Yup."

"I suppose I can see that. I mean, there is that whole Ancient Alien theory . . . . And here I always thought Big-Hair was barking."

"Okay, I  _have_  to ask . . . ."

"Hmm?" Hermione turned inquisitive eyes on him.

"Why are you taking this so calmly?"

She couldn't help a smirk. "Is it bothering you?"

Shaking his head, he chuckled in spite of himself. "A little, yeah."

With a laugh, she shrugged, surprised that something in the conversation had taken the edge off the pain in her head. "Well . . . . I'm not really supposed to tell you this, since you're a Muggle—"

"A  _what_?"

She waved a hand toward him in a dismissive gesture. "A non-magical person. Which I also shouldn't have just said, but my world has sort of imploded with a War of its own the last three years, and I understand that you're trying to help me. Your efforts would be crippled if you don't know the full truth."

He frowned as he repeated those first words, "Non-magical person? What, exactly, are you?" At this point, Bucky wouldn't be surprised to hear the girl was a goddamned fairy.

Though, if she said  _that_ , he couldn't be sure _he_ wouldn't be the one combat-rolling from the car.

"I'm a witch." She shook her head, hurrying on before he could pick at that. "Not the dancing naked in groves and chanting to the night sky sort."

Bucky bit his lip, keeping himself from giving her a once-over at that. Because he hadn't wondered for a split-second what she might look like dancing naked in a grove. Not at  _all_.

"Don't be cute," she said with a short laugh.

"Okay, then. What's  _your_  story?"

"Well . . . ." She distracted herself with picking little bits of lint from the knees of her faded black leggings. "In my world, there are really two types of witch and wizard. Pure-blood, and Muggle-born. Just like it sounds, the first are born of magical lineage, and the second of non-magical." She nodded to herself. "Of course, there's Half-bloods, but even they're better off than Muggle-borns.

"The darkest wizard ever to walk the earth started a War . . . . He wanted witches and wizards to come out of the shadows, break down the barriers between our worlds and basically rule over the Muggles. And part of his plan was to wipe out the very existence of Muggle-born witches and wizards. People like me. Without us around, the distinction between Muggles and Wizards would be that much clearer. No  _muddied_  lines, he liked to say." She winced at that word, at though the syllables sliced her tongue on the way out.

She tipped her head to one side and pulled down the collar of her jacket and her shirt. The letters  _M B_  stood out against the smooth skin of her shoulder in thick, jagged lines. She couldn't bring herself to mention that the mark did  _not_  stand for Muggle-born.

Bucky's jaw fell. It looked like it had been seared into her skin like a burn . . . .  _Or a brand_.

"He enacted a Curse that marked us. Those who had practiced the Dark Arts were drawn by the Curse's power to collect us . . . murdering us on the spot, unless there was a price on our heads." She uttered a mirthless laugh as she sniffled. "The youngest of us . . . only  _eleven_  years old. And the magic of the Curse lashed out into the world. It leeched the magical energy from what would have been the next generation of Muggle-borns.

"As long as Voldemort lived, there would  _never_  be another one of us." Again she shrugged, forcing her tears back before they could fully surface and lightening the tone of her voice. "My best friend was his mortal enemy, so I was being saved for last. But I escaped, then said best friend killed him, and the Curse broke with his death. Even with that, I might be the only one of my kind for the next . . . oh, ten years, or so?"

Bucky had no idea what to say to everything she'd just told him. Yup, she was the one with the more interesting story, albeit sadder, too.

Clearing his throat, he gave his head a shake. "Is that what Loki might want with you? Something to do with you being the only, um, Muggle-born . . . ?"

She nodded.

"The only Muggle-born witch or wizard left?"

"It's possible. I mean, I came here because I've been searching for any other Muggle-borns who might've survived in secret. But I don't know what he thinks one of us can do that pure-blood can't."

"With any luck, we won't have to find out."

Again, she nodded.

"Well," he said with a side-to-side bob of his head, "at least now none of this surprising you makes perfect sense." Really, how shocking could being hunted by a god-complexed alien seem after surviving a magical War and genocide caused by a  _curse_ , of all things?

Hermione bit her lip in thought. "Yes, true. Though, that scuffle between you and Loki almost did the trick."

A half-grin curved Bucky's mouth. Everything she'd been through, and she still maintained her sense of humor. Not too different from himself or Steve, he supposed.

They'd get along fine. One less head ache.


	3. Culture Shock

**Chapter Three**

Culture Shock

Bucky looked over at Hermione, under the shifting, sporadic orange light of the occasional street lamp passing overhead. After their talk, she'd fallen silent, and was now preoccupied with a scroll of parchment open in her lap.

"Bucky."

The sudden break in the silence jarred her and she jumped a little. Looking up from her map, she said, "Sorry, what?"

Chuckling, he shook his head, but kept his eyes on the road. "My name is Bucky. I realized we hadn't introduced ourselves."

"Bucky?" Her gaze flicked over him and she nearly laughed, herself. There seemed something odd about someone who . . . well, frankly someone who looked like  _him_  having such a name.

He bit the inside of his lip against the urge to scowl—not like he'd never gotten that reaction before—and gave a quick roll of his eyes. "James Buchanan Barnes, but friends call me Bucky."

Yawning, she stuffed the parchment into her tiny bag. "So, we're friends, then?"

Bucky shrugged, repressing a yawn of his own. "Only if you don't make fun of my name, again."

With a tired smile, she nodded. "Fair enough. My name's Hermione."

His brows shot up and he darted a glance in her direction. " _Hermione_? And you just made fun of  _my_ name?"

She cast him a narrow-eyed look and he held in a chuckle.

"So, James," she said, not sure she could make it through calling him Bucky with a straight face. "You're aware we need a plan."

He shook his head. "No, what we need right now is rest. We've been driving for hours, and you're still injured. We're not going to come up with anything strategically sound until we can think clearly."

_Strategically sound_. Hermione winced. She recognized soldier-talk when she heard it. God, she wished that aspect of her life didn't keep popping up.

"So," she started, unable to help her curiosity as her gaze landed on his metal hand. "Super-soldiers need sleep like the rest of us, then?"

"I _am_  still human . . . ." Before she could say anything, he spared a moment to flex his cybernetic fingers. "Okay,  _mostly_ still human."

He graciously smiled and shook his head as Hermione snickered.

"Well," she said nodding—she didn't like it, but he was right about needing a break, first. Her moments of dozing as a result of getting knocked unconscious didn't count as  _rest_ , as much as she'd prefer it that way. "I'm not sure we'll even be able to come up with a good plan, then, considering we're trying to plan around Loki. Loki, who, by all accounts, is completely barking."

Bucky furrowed his brow. He knew she'd said the word earlier, but he hadn't really been paying attention that first time. "Barking?"

"Insane."

"Oh. Well, still." He shrugged as he pointed to a road sign coming up on their right. "There's a motel not too far up ahead. Plan right now is pull over, get some food and rest, switch cars, continue on."

Hermione frowned as she deflated a bit. "Continue on to where?"

He was pretty sure the question, itself, was more a reflection on her situation than it was to do with the discussion of where to next. Putting that aside, he said, "Any place that's far away from where we left Loki."

She nodded as she noticed a sign for a fast food restaurant, that according the first board Bucky had pointed out, preceded the motel by only a quarter of a mile. That was when it occurred to her . . . . While she'd been on the run for so long now, his departure from New York City—as, she assumed from his accent and inflections, was where he lived— was  _rather_ abrupt.

"I . . . I have money, if we need it," she said suddenly.

Bucky cast her a glance, one eyebrow arched. He hadn't considered much in that regard; in his time away from HYDRA, he'd gotten in the habit of finding way to scrape by without, or to travel with every dime he had, if he needed to drop everything and run.

He wondered, then, if it was sheer dumb luck, or some eerie form of providence that today was a case of the latter. Perhaps because he hadn't known what these days waiting around for Loki to pop up—or  _not_ —might bring, he had a few hundred dollars in tight rolls of twenties tucked away in inner pockets of his leather jacket, and the ankles of his combat boots, keeping his knife company.

Granted, that wouldn't last them long if they weren't careful, or if they had to far to go.

Clearing his throat, he ignored the question of when Steven and the others might return, as unless the team dropped out of the sky and landed in front of them right now, he didn't see what good wondering about it would do. "How much do you have?"

"More than enough, I think," she said, a bit wary to give an actual number. Hermione understood he was likely only asking for reasons of logistics—food for two people, plus lodging and petrol, multiplied by estimated number of days, equals estimated funds needed—but the fact remained that she had only known him a few hours, at most.

She  _wanted_ to trust him, and she felt like she  _could_. Whether or not she  _should_  was another matter, entirely.

And she'd known exactly why Draco had given her those Galleons and Sickles when he helped her escape. They'd do her little good as currency in the Muggle world, but as _gold_ and _silver_  coins, they'd fetched her a pretty sum at a pawn shop, without many questions.

All so that she could keep running.

Swallowing hard, she pushed the memory away as Bucky—content with the answer she'd given, apparently—pulled into the car park of the fast food place. She thought she could even already see the motel in the not-too-far distance, like a tiny, rundown beacon against the night's blackness.

* * *

"We'll sleep in shifts, you first. I'll keep watch for any signs of trouble," he said over his shoulder as he unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting Hermione into the dilapidated room ahead of him.

She nodded, her head still aching, but her stomach grumbling too loud at the smell wafting up from the greasy bags she carried to say much. Hermione hadn't realized she was this hungry until they'd stepped into the grubby  _burger_   _palace_ , and she caught the scents of grilling meat and frying chips.

She couldn't help but laugh a little as she opened one of the bags and began pulling out the food.

"What?" Bucky asked, despite his current distraction as he checked the sturdiness of the door's lock and hinges, and then peeked through the shades, combing for anything suspicious outside.

Hermione picked up a French fry and smirked as it drooped in her fingers. "I always forget how skimpy American chips are."

His brows shooting up, he turned to look at the giggling witch and her drooping fry.

Sobering, she shook her head. "Sorry, I get silly when I'm this tired."

He nodded, sitting in the chair on the other side of the small, square table. "Sometimes silly is good thing."

They eat in a strangely comfortable silence for a while, and then Hermione slipped into the tiny bathroom to shower and change into fresh clothes.

Only when she stepped out, in different attire than she'd been in before, with only her tiny handbag, did she remember her traveling companion was a Muggle.

Bucky looked over her crisp, white t-shirt and blue jeans. "Um . . . ." He arched a brow. "How did you . . . ?"

"Oh, sorry," she said, shuffling her socked feet against the surprisingly thick carpet. "My bag, it's magical. It . . . well, let's just say it holds more than it looks like it should."

Sucking his teeth, he only nodded. He had a feeling there were going to be  _plenty_ of times he was not going to have a clue what to say to this woman.

"Well," she opened her bag and peeked in before reaching an arm inside and feeling around—much to Bucky's surprise. "If you'd like to change, I think I have some of my friend Harry's clothes, still."

She pulled out a flannel button down. "Ah, here we go!"

Hermione—in her very-Hermione manner of forgetting boundaries—stepped across the room to stand before him. She shook out the shirt and held it up against him.

And then she froze. She wasn't certain if it was because it had been a long while since she'd stood like this in front of  _anyone_ —what with him looking down at her in that way that made the longish ends of his brown hair sweep forward—or if it was because she could feel how solid he was through his clothes as she pressed the shirt to his shoulders, or the fact that he  _was_  rather nice to look at up close, but something was setting off a blush in her cheeks and the winging of butterflies through her stomach for a brief moment.

_Goodness,_ he was broad.

Clearing her throat and dropping her hands from him, she lowered her gaze to her bag as she shoved the shirt back inside. "You're quite a bit . . . taller than Harry. Never mind, then. Maybe we'll just stop somewhere and pick you up a few things."

Bucky let out a quiet breath, shaking his head as she turned on her heel and crossed the room to the bed. He didn't know if he liked her lack of personal space issues, or was terrified by it.

He was pretty sure he liked the wash of color that had stained her cheeks, but refused to read too much into it. She could simply have realized she was being too unguarded with someone she just met.

Nothing to do with  _him_ , or . . . anything like that.

Though, he couldn't help but notice the way she very deliberately avoided looking at him as she crawled under the covers and curled up.

When he was certain she was asleep, he took up a position by the window, peeking out into the motel's parking lot, and the tree line surrounding it. The sky on the horizon was just starting to brighten with the first rays of sunrise.

That was good timing, he thought. They'd both be able to get a good few hours of solid sleep, then sneak a car from one of the other motel guests after night fell.

* * *

Loki frowned, staring at the glowing symbols. The walls, the ceiling, the floor . . . . The bright, golden characters—as foreign to him now as they were the day he stumbled across this place—were scrawled across each surface of the windowless, door-less room.

Such an odd little space, just a box in the astral plane, really. And yet . . . . He sighed heavily as he lifted a hand, running the tips of his fingers along the wall. The golden light dragged downward with the motion, and then drifted back into place.

So simple, so unassuming. Yet, if his research about this place was correct—research that had sent him to long-deserted lumps of rock that had once been planets, and ruins lost to time millennia ago—then this little room was the key to so  _very_  much.

His shoulders slumped as the symbols flickered and vanished. It was never long enough, not that it mattered. The formula was useless to him on its own.

Back in his little hovel of a Midgardian residence, Loki opened his eyes. He darted his gaze about, looking for what had disturbed his trance-like slumber.

The ripple of energy that had washed across him and jarred him awake just now meant. . . .

He turned his attention to the orb. Sitting up on the shabby sofa, he snatched the ancient glass sphere up from the small table. Images flickered across its surface—expanses of sparsely illuminated road, reflective signs illuminated against the backdrop of night-blackened trees. And then . . . .

The Witch.  _His_ Witch.

She sat on a bed in a room as shabby as Loki's own little hovel. Beside her, that brutish Midgardian oaf perched—appearing all the more brutish and oafish for how delicate she appeared in comparison.

They had their heads bent closer together as they discussed  _something_ , Loki couldn't make out their words. His Witch spoke as she pointed to a piece of sepia paper, the brute visibly echoed her words and then laughed. She promptly scowled and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Good girl," Loki said, muttering the words under his breath.

But then the girl smiled, rolling her eyes as she shook her head.

Loki rolled his eyes, as well, albeit it in disgust. Ignoring a ripple of irritation—the brute's attentions might interfere with Loki's attempt to gain the Witch's favor, that was  _all_ —he brushed his palm across the orb's surface.

The images flickered backward, slipping in reverse to the reflective signs along the roadside.

Nodding, he stood and began gathering his things. He had their location, now he simply had to get there.

* * *

Bucky thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep as he leaned against the window, because the sudden shriek that cut across the room jarred him far more than it should have.

He snapped his attention to Hermione, who thrashed on the bed, seeming to fight against restraints that were not there.

He'd actually seen behavior like this before . . . memories of captivity, plus sleep deprivation, led to too-vivid nightmares when sleep  _finally_  came. Even as he rushed to the bedside, he wondered just how much more there was to the story she'd told him in the car a few hours ago.

Bucky pulled her into his lap, genuinely surprised at the fight she was putting up—she was shockingly strong, for how small she was—he caught her flailing wrists in one hand, worried she might hurt herself. She didn't seem to notice his interference, only struggling harder.

"Hermione!"

She started at her name, but fought, still.

Relinquishing his hold on her wrists, he cupped her face with his hands and tried, again. " _Hermione_!"

With a violent jolt, her eyes snapped open. Stilling in his hold, she darted her gaze about as she caught her breath and tried to get her bearings.

Finally, she focused on his face. "Bucky?" she whispered, her brow furrowing.

Nodding, he couldn't help but crack a grin. "Sure,  _now_  it's Bucky."

Hermione frowned at his joking, before she realized how he held her. Blushing furiously, she scrambled out of his lap to sit with her arms wrapped around her legs.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head as she met his gaze. "I have . . . nightmares, sometimes. I should have warned you."

"No worries. I've seen worse." Hell, he'd probably  _done_  worse. "Are you okay, now?"

Biting into her lip, Hermione nodded.

"Do you want to get back to sleep? You probably didn't get enough—"

"No!"

His eyebrows shot up at her abrupt refusal. Silence hung between them for a moment as he simply watched her, waiting for her to explain.

"Um . . . ." Hermione shook her head, shifting to sit cross-legged and rubbing her palms over her knees in an anxious gesture. "No, but thank you. I don't think I could get back to sleep, just now."

He nodded. He wasn't going to pry if she didn't want to talk about it. Hell, they barely knew each other, the last thing he expected was for her to divulge the stuff of her nightmares to him.

"Well, uh, if you want, I noticed a crappy vending machine by the motel office. I'm sure the coffee from it probably tastes more like motor oil than  _actual_ coffee, but either way it'll keep you awake."

"Sure. Thank you."

He braced his hands against the mattress to stand, but she caught his wrist.

Settling back down, Bucky looked at her as she let her hand fall away. "What's wrong?"

"Um . . . ." Hermione shrugged and darted her gaze about. "I have a plan. Or, at least part of one."

"Oh, okay."

She winced as she said, "It might involve a fair bit of hiking and camping."

The way he arched one brow at her as he waited for her to elaborate asked the question on his mind clearly enough.

Reaching for the handbag she'd tucked beneath the pillow, she opened it and dug around inside. After a moment, she produced the same piece of parchment she'd been looking at in the car earlier.

She unrolled it, revealing her map, and pointed to the red dot. "I use this to show me the location of things that can help me. And, in this case . . . it's showing me where to go so I can craft a wand."

Bucky's brows shot up and he couldn't help chuckling. "A wand?" He never would have thought actual witches and wizards would have to do something as ridiculous as using a  _wand_.

Frowning, she slapped his shoulder, which only made him laugh more. Relenting, she smiled in spite of herself and rolled her eyes. "Yes, a wand. I know it sounds silly, but we really do use them. They focus our magical energy so we can cast spells. In short, I'll be able to defend myself if I can craft a new wand, which should make your job a bit easier."

His mouth puckered in a thoughtful pout. "So, what happened to your  _old_ wand, then?"

"It was broken when I was . . . ." She shook her head and frowned. "It was broken during the War. I used others when the time called for it, but they weren't mine, so they didn't work as well as they could. However, given my circumstances, even now, I can't exactly pop into the nearest wand shop."

Bucky kept his surprise to himself. Mostly because he thought he shouldn't be surprised, by now. There were wand shops? Well, of course there were wand shops! There were witches and wizards, and crazy, murder-curses, why shouldn't there be shops that sold magic friggin' wands?

Oblivious to the little shake he gave himself, Hermione continued on. "I have most of the components I need to make it, but when I cast the charm to determine which wood I should use, the indicator came up empty. But now, it's showing me—that's what had me so distracted in the car The marker appeared, but I simply couldn't believe it. The tree I'm to take the wood from is  _here_."

"That's _very_  specific," he said, looking to the map, again.

"It's magic, what're you going to do?" she asked, with a shrug.

Holding in a sudden yawn, he nodded—it was his turn to get some rest, whether he liked it, or not. "I'll go get you that crappy motor oil coffee before I hunker down."

Stuffing the map back into her bag, Hermione nodded back as she watched him stand and cross the room.

"Bucky?"

He paused, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Hmm?"

She shrugged again and offered a small smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah. Hey, listen, do me a favor?"

Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "Sure."

Shaking his head, he spoke as he opened the door. "Don't call me James unless you're angry with me. Okay?"

"Sure," she repeated as he stepped over the threshold. "I can do that."


	4. Broken Soldiers

**Chapter Four**

Broken Soldiers

Loki peered through the tear in reality, cautious that he'd overshot his destination. These rips in the fabric of space and time were plentiful, on the whole, but in smaller regions proved few and far between, which meant they led him either just shy of where he wanted to be, or somewhere beyond it.

Bloody hell, recuperation after coming back from the dead  _really_ put a damper on one's abilities.

Yes, he thought as he glanced about. This looked familiar—the pair was not far ahead of him. Perhaps he would even find another tear on his way to shorten the trip, further.

Holding in a sigh—how in the name of everything in existence had _this_ become his lot in life?—he stepped from the tear and started through the woods lining the road, desolate even in these bright, mid-morning hours.

As he walked, the interaction he'd witnessed through the orb earlier came back to him. That oaf sitting on the bed next to the Witch. Unsightly, honestly.

His footfalls slowed as he wondered . . . . What if they were no longer there? Yes, he thought, as he pulled the orb from the pouch on his hip, what  _were_  they up to now?

Drawing a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he lifted the orb, allowing the sunlight slicing between tree branches to gleam through the sparkling glass sphere. He wasn't supposed to attempt directing the orb's power, but he needed to know what, precisely, was happening at this moment.

As he willed the swirling colored lights into form, he saw that depressing little room again. The view turned slowly, showing him the Midgardian brute, asleep on the suddenly tiny-seeming bed. Loki pretended he didn't feel at least a _little_  pleased that the Witch wasn't beside him.

As the vision inside the orb spun, he glimpsed her. In some markedly uncomfortable-looking chair by the shaded window, she sat.

And she was dosing.

An idea struck. A wicked grin curved his lips as he tipped his head to one side. Oh, with any luck, perchance she was dreaming.

Or they both were.

Cupping the orb between his palms, he neatly seated himself cross-legged beneath one of the many trees. With a deep, centering breath, he focused on the beings reflected in the sphere; focused on combining his own power with the relic's energy and stretched out . . . . Searching, connecting.

After all, no time like the present to test his still re-emerging abilities.

Picking at the wispy tendrils of her slumbering imagination, he saw the person she was with in her dream. Tall, lanky, and fair-skinned, not unlike Loki, himself.

_Well,_ this _is going to interesting_ , he thought with a smirk as he slipped into her dream—right into the stead of the pale-haired young man who was keeping her company.

* * *

_Hermione stretched beneath the water, enjoying the warm, gentle lapping against her skin. Enjoying the simple sensation her skin sliding against his as she moved._

_There was nothing better than this, she thought. Sharing a bath with someone was the simplest, but most mindbogglingly sexy thing she could think of. How many times had it been, now, since the first night he'd coaxed her to sneak away from everyone to join him like this?_

_She wriggled just a little against him as she reached back, linking her hands behind his neck. Odd . . . his hair felt a bit longer than usual, perhaps because it was wet. It had grown some, recently, so maybe she simply hadn't noticed just how_ much _it had grown._

_There was a pleasant shifting of his skin beneath hers as he heaved a deep breath, letting the air slip from between his lips in a content sigh._

_Her eyes drifted closed as he bent his head, brushing his lips against the pulse below her ear. His hands trailed down along her sides beneath the water's surface, causing her a sweet shiver._

" _Tease," she whispered._

_Hermione felt the rumbling of it as he chuckled low in the back of his throat._

_She wanted_ more _did she? Well, that was certainly an achievable goal._

_A warm, tingling thrill shot through her as one of his hands cupped her breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing over her nipple in lazy circles._

_Well, now, he_ did _quite like the way she uttered the softest little moan, wriggling herself against him, once more. But why stop there? He trailed his other hand lower, further along her side, to her hip and then inward, tickling across the very top of her thigh._

_He found himself both surprised and delighted that he had to bite his lip to hold in a sound of satisfaction at the way she parted her legs for him. And to think, she appeared such an innocent little thing . . . ._

_His fingers sank between her thighs and her response was immediate. The gasp that tore from her lips as she arched her back, one of her hands slipping from his neck to rest over his, guiding the tips of his fingers as they stroked over her._

_Well, now, if she kept at this he was going to be in_ quite  _the predicament when she woke up._

_She rocked her hips, moving forward against his working hand, back against the always-pleasant sensation of him growing hard beneath her._

_She turned her head just a little, nipping playfully at his chin as she murmured, "Draco . . . ."_

_He chuckled, then, a broad grin playing on his lips. "Who is Draco?"_

_Hermione's eyes snapped open. She recalled that voice . . . ._ You have _nowhere_  else to go, do you?  _She snapped her head around, meeting Loki's amused green-eyed gaze, her hand stilling atop his._

_Yet his fingers kept working . . . and she found herself oddly reluctant to stop him. Everything was warm and sweet and perfect, and his beautiful face so close just now that his breath whispered over her mouth as he exhaled._

_That grin growing only more wicked, he nudged her head to one side just little so that he could nibble on her ear. "Let us simply allow this to be our little secret, shall we?" The brush of his lips against her damp skin as he spoke sent another shiver through her._

_She couldn't help it—she didn't know why she couldn't help it—as her body tensed beneath his stroking fingers._

" _I will not tell that oafish Midgardian brute of yours, if you will not."_

_A cry fell from her lips as she stilled against him, the faintest tremor running along her limbs as she came._

_He found he could not stop himself from tilting his head to watch her expression, to watch the lovely haze flicker across her face as that sweet little death tore through her. How very striking she was like this._

_Perhaps he would keep her after she had served her purpose._

_The orgasm ebbed and she fell against him, the tension draining out of her. Her hips rocked again, nearly of their own volition, aiding the delicious little aftershocks rippling over her._

_Catching her breath, she opened her eyes once more to look at him._

_Smirking, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs only when she'd finally settled against him. Lifting a finger to his lips, Loki made a quiet, shushing sound._

* * *

Hermione snapped awake, shooting forward in the chair. Hands gripping the armrests, she dragged in a deep breath. Exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm herself, she looked about the room.

There Bucky was, asleep on the bed. He looked like he hadn't budged—he even sounded like he was snoring a little.

She cracked a half-grin at the comical sound—a super soldier who made made adorable little snuffling noises when he snored—but just as quickly the cheerful expression faded.

_I will not tell that oafish Midgardian brute of yours, if you will not._

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes drifting closed as she shook her head. Wasn't it enough that Loki had interrupted a sweet remembrance of her pre-War life with Draco? He'd had to go and drag Bucky into it, too?  _Why?_

Opening her eyes, she looked to Bucky, once more.

She barely knew him, but . . . . This man, with his past as bizarre as her own, his patchy memory, and unfortunate prosthetic . . . not to mention a sense of humor un-dulled by his circumstances, and those snuffling-snores.

For the moment, she was going to pretend his blue eyes, broad shoulders, and the  _ridiculous_  rugged-perfection of his jaw weren't factors.

She barely knew him, but she thought  _perhaps_  Bucky—James Buchanan Barnes—was someone she could find herself liking.

* * *

Loki frowned, willing his body to obey—to calm itself in the aftermath of that admittedly pleasant dream the Witch had presented him. He had never been a man to think with his cock, and he was not  _about_ to start now.

After a few moments, when his pulse had steadied and his . . . well,  _other_  parts had simmered down, he shifted his focus. Giving his head a shake, he closed his eyes and reached out, once more.

* * *

_Bucky started awake, aware of dampness and bone-chilling cold surrounding him. Blinking his bleary eyes, he pushed past his disorientation. He could see, high above, the rails of the train tracks barely visible against the rapid snow fall._

_The train, and Steve, and everyone else, were long-gone by now._

_He shifted to sit up, but a sharp, jagged heat shot through him and he fell back against the icy ground, gritting his teeth._

" _The hell . . . ?" he asked in a breathless whisper._

_He'd probably broken something, or_ several  _somethings, in the fall—he was going to ignore the question of how he'd managed to survive, at all. At least for the moment. For now . . . ._

_Now, he needed to get his bearings and assess the damage to his body._

_His legs, he could move his legs, that was good. Wiggling his toes inside his boots only made him aware of how chilled the worn leather was. Shit, the fall hadn't killed him, but hypothermia would probably do the trick, especially if he was wounded._

_He shifted against the snow, again. And, again, he was greeted by that awful searing sensation._

_Holding himself still, he tried to move his arms. The fingers of his right hand balled into a fist in the snow, and his elbow bent, his shoulder rotated, everything he told it to do, but his left . . . ._

_He felt_ nothing _as he tried to move his left hand. As he tried to bend his elbow. The terrible realization began to sink in as he rotated his left shoulder and the pain erupted once more._

_Again gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes tight and swallowed hard. He didn't want to look. He_ didn't  _want to look, but he knew he_ had  _to._

_Forcing his eyes open, he gave himself a sobering shake and turned his head._

_The sound that tore from his throat at the sight of his missing arm—not just missing,_ torn off _—was barely human._

" _You poor, pathetic creature; you are a_ mess _."_

_Bucky's head snapped up at the cultured—misplaced—voice speaking to him._

_There, a few feet from him, and looking utterly at home in the frigid atmosphere, was a dark-haired man in the strangest clothes Bucky'd ever seen._

" _Help me!"_

_His plea only caused the man's brows to shoot up his forehead._

_Bucky couldn't make sense of it when the stranger only stared back at him._

" _Now, what fun would it be for me, were I to help you?"_

_As the mirth in the man's tone sank in, reality crashed over him. Bucky remembered who this was, and what had happened in the waking world over the last half-day._

" _Loki?"_

" _Ah, and lucidity asserts itself," Loki said in an amused tumble of words. He strolled, closing the distance between himself and the brute—though he hardly looked brutish, now, broken like this. "Pity you do not have better control over your own mind, or you could change your current circumstances."_

_Bucky tried to scramble backward, willing himself to ignore the pain of his missing arm as he moved. It didn't work—he felt every tiny spark of agony shoot through him as he inched along the snow._

* * *

The adorable snuffling was replaced—rather sharp and fast—by terrible sounds of pain. Hermione rose from her chair and crossed to the bedside, her footfalls cautious.

Bucky was starting to struggle beneath the covers, and she wondered if this was what she'd looked like to him earlier when she'd had her nightmare. Her brow furrowed, worrying as she considered whether or not she should wake him.

He'd woken her earlier, saving her from a horrific memory, perhaps she owed him the same?

* * *

_Bucky couldn't get away fast enough. Quicker than he could blink, Loki was kneeling beside him._

_The Asgardian reached a hand out, gripping his fingers into what remained of Bucky's left arm._

_Bucky screamed in agony, thrashing against the ground as he tried to swing at Loki with his right fist._

_Loki caught the strike easily in his free hand. Holding it away, he leaned over Bucky, grinning in triumph. "Now, you are not planning to interfere with my purpose for our little Witch any further, are you?"_

_Of course this had to do with Hermione, Bucky thought, shaking his head. "Well, hope you're used to disappointment by now," he said, his words slipping out from between clenched teeth. "'Cause you're_ not _gettin' her."_

" _Oh, I_ beg _to differ, Midgardian." He squeezed harder, relishing that it caused the brute to scream, once more. "I can inflict upon you torments unlike_ anythin _g you have ever imagined."_

_Bucky couldn't help a chuckle at that, even in his current state, as he glanced at his raggedly-torn upper arm. "Yeah? Try me."_

_Loki growled—this was_ not _going as planned. This one was irritatingly spirited. He would probably get on fine with Thor and his lot._

_He leaned closer, his face right over Bucky's now as he murmured, "What is she to you that you would protect her so?"_

_"What she is, is_ not yours _."_

_The air seemed to still around them a moment as Bucky inhaled, inadvertently pulling in the breath spilling from Loki's lips. That shared breath sent the tiniest, most fleeting tremor through each of them._

_A flicker of confusion drifted across the brute's features—lighting quick, yet not lost on Loki. The Midgardian flinched as the silence went on longer than it should have._

_"Well," Loki said, once more amused and watching the other man's face as he tipped his head to one side, "it seems I can unsettle you in more ways that just_ this. _"_

_On that last word, he put his full strength into the hand around Bucky's torn arm._

_As the pain tore through him, Bucky's right arm shot out, closing around Loki's throat._

* * *

"Bucky, stop, please."

His eyes opened on that shivering whisper.

Hermione didn't know if she'd startled him, or if he was reacting to whatever had happened in his nightmare, but she knew the look in his eyes. Disorientation . . . anger . . . . he wasn't aware he was fully awake, yet.

She'd merely knelt beside the bed, touching his right shoulder. It had all happened so fast—him shooting off the bed with his hand around her throat—that it seemed only a heartbeat passed before she found herself on the floor, her back pinned to the wall.

His blue eyes were still hazed even as he seemed to struggle to control his breathing.

Her lips trembling, she raised hand to touch his cheek. He flinched at the touch, and she couldn't help but wince, refusing to drop her hand.

How many times, she wondered, had she put Harry through this sort of thing, herself, in the months after her captivity? How many times had he tried to wake her, only to have her attack him that she couldn't even recall?

"Bucky? Bucky,  _please_! It's Hermione."

The haze in his eyes faded and he gave his head a shake. His brow furrowed and his lower lip poked out for the briefest moment before he managed to say, "Hermione?"

He snatched his fingers from her throat immediately. "Oh, my God. I'm—I'm so . . . I don't even . . . ." Again he shook his head, he didn't have the faintest clue how to apologize for this.

He expected her to recoil, to slide along the wall, away from him, and bolt for the door the second she got to her feet.

Instead, she once more cupped his face, shaking her head as she held his gaze. "It's okay. You're okay. Whatever happened in your dream, you're safe now. Do you hear me?"

"Safe?" he echoed, his breathing still evening out as he braced his hands on the wall. " _I'm_ safe?" How could she talk about  _him_ being safe when it was so damned clear that he'd just endangered  _her_?

He thought she misinterpreted his response. Using her hands on his face, she guided him to cradle his head against her shoulder and slipped her arms around him in a gentle hug.

"You're safe, Bucky. So am I." After a few heartbeats she added, "And we're going to work to keep each other that way."

Inhaling deeply—hmm, she smelled nice—he nodded and let his eyes drift closed. He understood, now. She hadn't misinterpreted his meaning, at all. He should have realized from the nightmare he'd woken her from earlier.

Their stories were different, but the tolls were similar. They were both soldiers, lost and broken . . . .

And just trying to make it to the next thing that would help them save themselves.


	5. Playing Pretend

**Chapter Five**

Playing Pretend

Later that day, after they'd both gotten the chance to rest a bit more—thankfully dream-free—Hermione learned that Bucky Barnes was not one accustomed to cohabitation with a female.

_Or_ , he simply had no awareness of what he looked like to other people.

Hermione had a plan. While he'd popped into the shower, she rummaged about the room, turning up a phone book. It was missing its cover and was probably a few years old, but she thought the local establishments probably hadn't changed in that time.

She'd guessed correctly about the area—the rural setting  _did_ mean there was a place to purchase camping goods. Aside from the usual supplies, she would need a good pair of hiking boots, and Bucky needed changes of clothing . . . and deodorant. He was cute, but even cute men could get pungent after a day or two in the wilderness—a bit of firsthand experience she could thank Harry for.

Nodding to herself as she sat on the corner of the bed and laced up her trainers, she considered that Loki had approached her in the open. Given that, and the brief sum-up of his history Bucky had relayed to her during the car ride yesterday, they couldn't count on Loki to care about hurting bystanders to get to her. Their best bet would be to stick to the woods and keep moving. Camp at night, and hike as far as they could make it during the day.

They might eventually find themselves in Canada, but at least there was a chance the constant motion would trip up their pursuer. Once she had her wand, she could conceal their campsites at night.

Sighing, she straightened up and began piling her wild hair atop her head. Honestly, she considered with a nod as she pinned the messy up-do in place, they could probably make do with a simple tent for just a few hours, since her wand would allow her to fix any accommodations issues, as well.

Then, the hinges on the bathroom door creaked and she looked up as she stood from the bed. "So, I was just thinking . . . ." Her words slid right off and she forgot to breathe for a moment.

His shirt clutched loosely in his hand, he stood barefoot in the bathroom doorway. The ends of his damp brown hair brushed his shoulders, and one of the teeny off-white towels the motel had provided was slung around his neck.

Hermione tried very,  _very_  hard not to notice the play of light and shadow in the droplets of water across the muscles of his chest and abdomen. Or the ripples in his sides . . . or the dusting of dark hair that started just below his navel and disappeared into the top of the jeans he had yet to button.

She had only just turned her attention to the cybernetic arm; her heart broke a little at the sight of the flesh surrounding the silvery shoulder. It looked scarred— _burned_ , not unlike the Mudblood mark on  _her_  left shoulder.

Though it felt like forever, she was aware her little fight with herself to not gape at the half-naked man had really only lasted for the space of a few heartbeats. And he'd looked up in time to catch her staring at the red star adorning the metal.

"Sorry." His bottom lip poked outward and his brow furrowed as he took his shirt between his hands and shook it out. "I forget, sometimes . . . ."

Hermione understood that he thought she'd noticed  _only_ the hi-tech prosthetic. "No, no," she said, stopping him as he was about to pull his shirt over his head. "It's not . . . . I wasn't . . . ."

Bucky's eyebrows inched upward as she stumbled through whatever she was trying to say.

She clasped her hands in front of her, wringing them lightly as she dropped her gaze to the floor and cleared her throat. "I was about to tell you I had plan, but then you distracted me. I'm going to step outside, now—I will be right at the door, and will scream bloody murder if I so much as  _imagine_  Loki is nearby—but I'm going to tell you this. I will say it once, and  _only_ once, and then we'll forget about it." On the last word, she looked up at him, again.

His gaze darted about the room before returning to hers as he waited.

Wincing, she shrugged and gave a sideways nod. "When you distracted me just now, it was  _not_  your arm that had my attention."

He wanted to think he was imagining the blush in her cheeks as she turned on her heel and practically ran to the door.

Then he considered her words . . . . Biting into his bottom lip in thought, Bucky looked down the line of his body.

He couldn't help a chuckle in spite of himself as he noticed the still-open button of his jeans and that he hadn't fully dried himself. Okay, and  _maybe_  there was a chance that—more than forgetting about the jarring sight of his metal arm—he'd forgotten what women saw when they looked at him.

It was so simple, so  _human_  a thing, and there had been so many days he thought he might never feel human, again. He really,  _really_  wanted to feel bad that he'd embarrassed her.

Yet, as he buttoned his jeans and finished drying off before pulling on his shirt, he didn't think he  _could_.

But for her sake, he'd do as she asked, and pretend to forget.

* * *

"Look," she said, pointing across the road to the camping goods store. "There's the car park."

Bucky shook his head as he finished the last bite of the early dinner they'd picked up along the way. Really, it was breakfast for them, but as it turned out, small town diners didn't like the idea of 'round-the-clock breakfasts. She'd explained her plan, and he couldn't find any flaws in it—though he was fascinated, already, by the things she explained would no longer be a problem once she had full access to her magic.

He'd commented his concerns on the car they'd picked up being stopped by police, but she'd assured him that if it was just one officer or two officers, then he needn't worry. Something about having enough power to easily cast a confusion charm on them?

"That's what I was  _going_  to do to Loki," she'd explained, her expression tight as she shook her head. "'Til you stepped in."

He bit his lip to hold back a surprised laugh, before he managed a response. "Um, you mean when I  _rescued_  you?"

"I'm not ungrateful, Bucky," she said with a sigh. "I just think that if you'd allowed me just a few more seconds, I could have cast a confusion charm on Loki, and I might not have had to worry about a possible concussion last night."

"Okay, that's fair," he conceded, aware of the little—but smug—grin that curved her lips as she nodded back.

Now, he drove past the parking lot and indicated a dense stand of trees off the side of the already-forest-lined road with a lift of his chin. "We'll put the car there. If we put it in the . . . ."

At his pause, Hermione looked over at him. His eyes were still on the road, but his lips were pressed together and his jaw twitched just a little in what she thought was a laugh.

"What?" she asked, her brows pinching together.

"You just called it a car park."

She hadn't the foggiest idea what was amusing about that. "So?"

"No, nothing, it's just . . . we call them parking lots, here. Hearing you call it a car park is . . . "  _Cute_. "Never mind," he said with a shake of his head; they were getting off topic. "If we put the car in the parking lot, and it gets reported, we're stuck. There  _will_  be more than two people in that store, and we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

"Right." She couldn't help eyeing him as they continued down the road to the stand of trees, and walked back to the  _car park_. He still had a little smirk on his face the entire time.

* * *

The store's owner lounged behind the counter, eyeing the young couple who'd walked in. They were new faces, not that that was unusual with all the campsites and hiking trails in the area, but it was that he couldn't quite get a bead on them, and he was usually pretty good at reading people.

The way they ducked their heads toward one another when they talked spoke volumes, but he couldn't figure out if they were in their honeymoon stage, or hadn't gotten that far, yet. It didn't help his assessment when, after she'd grabbed some items and all but ushered her boyfriend into the dressing room, he'd poked his head back out for a moment, just as she'd bent to take a pair of boots from a nearby display.

The young man'd tipped his head to one side, and his brows shot up as his gaze traced over her backside. Seeming to think better on whatever he was going to say, he merely nodded to himself and ducked back into the dressing room.

_Young people._

* * *

Hermione put her broken down trainers in the box of the new hiking boots—which were surprisingly comfortable for how stiff the outer shell was—and looked up just as Bucky has stepped from the dressing room. She'd given him a few pairs of jeans and some flannel button-downs to try on, figuring they could use those as a size-guide to purchase him multiple sets of each item.

For under things, he was on his  _own_.

"These," he said, nodding as he lifted his arms to check how far the movement pulled the cuffs of the sleeves from his gloved wrists.

"Uh, you . . . ." She couldn't help a giggle as he moved and the shirt parted, lopsided, in the front. "Oh, never mind," she said as she stepped up to him, wondering if perhaps the hand of his cybernetic arm made fine motor skill tasks such as buttoning shirts difficult for him.

"This is why I like shirts that slip over my head," he muttered as lifted his hands and dropped his gaze, watching as she unbuttoned his shirt.

The fabric fell away from his skin a little as she shifted it to right the buttons, and Hermione wasn't certain if the shock to her system was pleasant or not.

"I . . . I didn't realize you weren't wearing anything under this," she said in a small voice, trying to ease the rush of butterflies through her stomach.

She stood so close that when she let out a tiny, exasperated sigh as she tugged at his shirtfront, he felt her breath against his skin. Swallowing hard, he looked away from her as her slender fingers worked their way along his abdomen and up toward his chest.

They'd known each other twenty-four hours, and yet he'd had more moments of being close with her like this than he could recall with anyone else in the last . . . . God, how long had it even been? Well, barring people he was trying to kill, or who were trying to kill him, of course.

Trying to break the tension, he shrugged and tossed a glance toward one of the aisles. "Yeah, sorry. Undershirts are packaged, and they kinda frown on customers opening things."

Hermione could tell from his tone that he was trying to joke, to make light of the moment. She nodded, gracing him with a smile as she stepped back. Gesturing toward the aisle he'd indicated, she said, "G'on then. I'll just . . . wait for you at the register."

Bucky nodded, watching as she spun on her heel and started across the store. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding—trying to ignore the way her shoulders moved as she walked, as though she might be doing the exact same thing—as he busied himself with grabbing a few more things in his size before wandering down the aisle that housed men's undergarments.

* * *

As Bucky neared the register, he saw Hermione pacing in front of it, a pile of items on the counter that seemed like everything they'd need to camp for about a week. But her face when she turned and met his questioning gaze was downright frightening.

The store owner—an older man in a flannel that had seen better days and a baseball cap—was eyeing the witch cautiously. This . . . did  _not_  look good.

"Everything okay here?" Bucky asked as he set his things on the counter beside Hermione's purchases.

"You've got a feisty one, here, son."

Hermione whirled on her heel to face the proprietor.

In reply, the man held up his hands and shook his head. "I was only tryin' to make conversation. Seems she took it wrong."

Bucky took account of the man's age, of his pattern of speech, and held up a finger. "Would you excuse us a minute?"

The man nodded, pretending to busy himself with something behind the counter.

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, Bucky turned to Hermione. Slipping a hand around her elbow, he pulled her to walk with him, just out of earshot of the proprietor. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

She was so shocked by the insinuation that whatever had happened before he'd arrived was  _her_  doing, that she didn't even think to pull her arm from his grasp. "The bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

Biting hard into his bottom lip, he rolled his eyes. "We're supposed to be keeping a low profile. We are trying to  _not_  draw attention to ourselves, remember?"

"Yes, Bucky, I remember. But it wasn't  _my_  fault." She drooped a little, and only then did they each remember that his fingers were still wrapped around her arm.

Dropping his gaze to his hand, he let go, backpedaling a step. "Okay," he said, nodding and meeting her gaze, again. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing, really." Oddly, she was more aware of how close he'd been now that he'd moved back, than she'd been while he was holding her. "I just brought everything to counter and when I set it all down, I said I was waiting on you and . . . ."

His brows shot up in question as she paused to square her jaw.

"He insinuated that I _had_  to wait for you, because  _you_  needed to make sure everything was correct. You know, being that you're the  _man_."

Bucky slapped his hand against his face as she went into a whispered tirade, slipping back into her earlier pacing, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"As though  _I_  couldn't possibly have any interest of my  _own_  in camping, or outdoorsy activities! Like I can't  _possibly_  know whether the things I chose are correct on my own! All because I'm a bloody g _irl_!"

Drawing a breath and letting it out slowly, Bucky looked from the quietly rampaging witch to the proprietor—who'd abandoned all pretense of having better things to do as he watched them—and back.

"Honestly! No,  _no_ , clearly that's just  _not_  possible. A woman  _can't_  be interested in such things  _unless_ her man has talked her into it!"

Finally, she stopped pacing. She inhaled deep through her nostrils and exhaled from between pursed lips. As she turned to face Bucky, she found him watching her with his brows high on his forehead.

Just her luck, she thought. His last true social interactions had been in the 1940s. He probably sided more with the views of the silly,  _old,_  shop owner than he did with her.

He couldn't really tell her it wasn't  _just_ a gender issue. He couldn't begin to imagine how much worse her anger would be if he pointed out that she was . . . delicate-looking.  _Dainty_ , yeah, that was the word. And the accent probably didn't help on that count, while  _he_  looked like someone who'd been camping since before he could walk.

Nope, the  _judging a book by its cover_  thing didn't seem like it would make Hermione any happier with the misunderstanding.

Nodding, Bucky leaned down so he was eye-level with her. "Okay, I get it. But we only need to deal with him for long enough to get out of the store. I promise, if he says anything else, I'll step back and let you say whatever the fuck you want to him. Can we just try not to make a scene first, though?"

She felt disarmed by the blue eyes staring into hers. Not incredibly so, but  _just_ enough that she was willing to listen to reason.

Hermione forced a nod.

"Good," he whispered as he slid his arm around her waist and turned them both back toward the counter. "So just . . . play along."

And she did. Grudgingly apologizing to the proprietor for any rudeness on her part. The man was good-natured enough about the situation, smiling and nodding and making small talk with Bucky, which conveniently included chatter about some nearby trails that were closed due to a recent storm that had brought down some trees.

Hermione forced a smile—but thankfully, due to her first interaction with the old man, it didn't matter that she didn't bother with any attempt to make it look genuine—as she listened and noted the locations. She hoped they would match up with where she and Bucky needed to head. Closed trails would mean less likelihood of Loki stumbling over innocent people if he was catching up to them.

She tried not to think about how much she liked the feel of his arm around her waist, of the weight of his hand on her hip. She tried not to let it make her feel just a bit guilty that she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him about Loki's little dreamwalk that morning.

If Loki could get to her in her dreams, then did it really matter how far they ran?

As the old man chattered away, Bucky glanced down at the top of Hermione's head. He was trying not to notice how perfectly she fit into his side, or how warm she felt against him.

He wondered for a moment if he should tell her about Loki's little  _visit_  to him that morning. He stopped just short of shaking his head at his own thoughts. He wanted to tell her, but he was still a bit unsettled by the whole thing.

The threats Loki had issued weren't the problem though . . . . No, there'd been something _else_  in the dream that he couldn't put his finger on, right now.

He would tell her, he decided, while they were making camp later. He'd just leave that unnameable  _something else_  out of it.

* * *

Loki stopped mid-stride at the feel of the orb giving off a pulse.

Pulling the relic from its pouch, he lifted it to his eye-level. _Forest._   _Yes,_ so _helpful_ , he thought with a miserable frown.

He looked from the orb, to the wooded area through which he currently tromped. No good. The trees and skyline in the image were too indistinct. He could either keep moving in the direction he'd already been heading, or wait, hoping the next clue would be something more concrete.

Holding in an irritated groan, he stashed away the orb and continued walking.

Here he was, picking his way through the wilderness while that oaf was doing Fates knew what with  _his_  Witch. Not _their_  witch,  _his_. He honestly had no idea why he'd slipped as he had during his trip into the Midgardian brute's subconscious and referred to her as such.

But then . . . .

"Oh, I see," Loki said, halting a moment as a smirk plucked one corner of his mouth upward. There was that . . . little moment. That tiny  _spark_.

_And_  the oaf's reluctance to understand it.

Perhaps he was going about his handling of that man the wrong way. Loki's smirk widened into a wicked grin. Perhaps brute force and intimidation wouldn't work as well as a . . .  _gentler_  means might to remove him as an obstacle.

Chuckling to himself, he started walking again. Oh, how he  _did_ enjoy being wicked.


	6. Memories, Old & New

**Chapter Six**

Memories Old & New

"Stop, stop," Hermione said, her gaze on the map open in her hands.

Reacting instantly, Bucky slammed on the brakes, rocking them both forward a bit in their seats as the rusty bucket of bolts they were riding in jerked to a halt. He bit his lip to hold in an apologetic laugh as he glanced over at her . . . only to find the witch shooting him a withering look.

"Uh, sorry."

With a shake of her head, she cleared her throat and showed him the blinking spot of red on the parchment. "See there?" She pointed out the window, beyond the thick expanse of trees lining the otherwise vacant road. "We have to go that way."

He nodded, easing his foot off the brake. Making a u-turn, he parked the car several yards back up the road. They retrieved their packs from the trunk, but he held onto the keys and made a mental note of the location in context to where they were headed—just in case they needed a ride, again . . . and provided no  _helpful_ passersby called in to have the poor heap of metal towed away.

He also did quite well holding in a snicker when she referred to the trunk of the car as  _the boot_. He wasn't going to question whether he simply thought Britishisms amusing, or if he found them cute because _she_  was the one saying them.

The trek into the woods to reach their destination was a  _bit_  further than Hermione's original estimation. "Likely half an hour," she'd said.

She would swear the spot was moving further into the woods the closer they got to it. By the end of the second hour of hiking—Merlin only knew where the bloody hell they were by now—she found herself randomly filling Bucky in on all the wonderful films of her childhood on which he'd missed out.

There  _were_ benefits to being a witch with a Muggle home life.

"So wait," Bucky said, stopping in his tracks after they pushed past some brush. "You're telling me that this guy who trained for only five years beat someone who'd been training for twenty?  _And_  training with revenge on his mind?"

"Some people _are_  quick studies."

"I don't buy it," he said as he started forward, again.

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she fell into step beside him. "Oh, c'mon. Look, maybe it's because neither of them really wanted to kill the other. One was saving his ire, the other was saving his vengeance. They both recognized that the person they were dueling was not the person they truly  _needed_  to face."

He let out a sigh. "But you  _just_  said they were giving it their best."

Hermione thought, perhaps, he wasn't one accustomed to people pulling their punches. "Their best artistic maneuvers. Not the same as fighting to kill. If you lack conviction, you will not follow through, no matter how skilled you are."

Bucky held up his hands in surrender—here he was, arguing a movie plot point like it mattered. "Okay. Okay. How big was the giant, again?" he asked, opting for a different point in the same subject.

She glanced at him, her brows shooting up. "Uh . . . by American standards of measurement, I believe he was seven-foot-four, and . . . over five-hundred pounds. Why?"

"Context. I'm trying to picture the fight between him and an average-sized man."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but nodded. "When this is over, I am  _so_  making you watch  _The Princess Bride_ ," she said with a grin.

He laughed, but then nearly tripped over her as she stopped short.

"It's here!" Excitement bubbled in her tone as she lifted the map, lining it up with the trees ringing the small clearing they found themselves in.

The spot blinked rapidly as she passed one tree, in particular. Unable to contain herself, she bolted across the clearing.

Well, she certainly was peppy after an unexpected two-hour hike. Bucky shook his head, his brows high, as he followed her.

"I can't believe it," she said in a breathy whisper. "It's a hornbeam tree."

His brows only climbed higher, still, as he tipped back his head to look up at the leaves above them. "There's something special about hornbeam trees, I take it?"

She darted her gaze to his, reminding herself that, of course,  _he_  couldn't know the significance of such a thing. "In Britain, there is a master wandmaker, Mr. Garrick Olivander. Everyone goes to his shop for their wands. His personal wand is made of hornbeam! And . . . ." She was so elated, she could actually feel tears pinging in the corners of her eyes and had to sniffle. "And the core of his wand is dragon heartstring!  _My_  core is dragon heartstring—I managed to salvage it from my original wand.  _Not_  an easy task, that."

Bucky tried to hold in a grin. "You, um, you seem  _really_  excited about this."

Hermione'd been about to whirl in a circle, but stopped, feeling almost childlike in her giddiness. Though, her intended action was obvious, as her arms were in the air for no other apparent reason.

Tipping her head to one side as she met his gaze, she refused to drop her arms, despite how ridiculous she probably looked. "Of  _course_  I'm excited, Bucky! Magic has deemed  _me_  worthy to have the same wand as  _the_  master wandmaker of Wizarding Britain!"

He nodded—he wasn't going to pretend to understand the specifics, but sure, yeah, that  _did_  sound like a pretty big deal. "Well, you said everyone else just buys their wands, but you're  _crafting_  yours. And your magic would know the difference, right? I mean, you may not be a master at it, but it puts you in the ballpark, doesn't it?"  _God_ , this was more confusing than the time he overheard Natasha and Tony talking about how the Force worked in  _Star Wars_ —whatever the  _hell_ that was.

But he must've made sense, because Hermione dropped her arms and nodded back. "You're right! Okay, okay. Let's set camp, first. I need a menial task to calm me down before I start this."

They decided on a spot just off to one side of the clearing—less likelihood of any other hikers or campers accidentally stumbling into them after she concealed their site, later. True that they hadn't seen or heard another soul in the area, but one could never be _too_  cautious.

He found himself surprised at how seamlessly they worked together to set camp, but then he figured this was probably exactly why she was so angry at that old man in the store. Not just because he assumed she couldn't know these things because she was a female, but because she absolutely  _did_  know these things.

"So you really do know your way around camping equipment?" he asked, humor lacing his voice.

Settling on her heels, she nodded as she checked that the nearest tent peg was secure. "Yes, saved Harry and me, I'll tell you that. Never could see eye-to-eye with Draco about it, though. He hated . . . ."

Bucky looked up from setting a boundary of a small pit for the campfire they'd undoubtedly need once the temperature dropped as night started to fall, to see her shaking her head. She bit her lip, her gaze on the ground as he watched her. Harry she'd mentioned before, but this Draco guy was clearly different.

Trying to sound like he was only making conversation, he said, "So there _is_  a guy."

"What?" She looked up at him, her eyelids sweeping down in rapid blinks.

"The way you stop yourself from talking about certain things . . . ." He shrugged. "People do that when the memories are  _bad_. I should know, my head's full of shit I'll probably never bring myself to put into words. Well, that and you just said his name."

Shoulders slumping, she laughed at herself. "There  _was_ a guy. There isn't, anymore."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, no," she said, laughing again. But the laugh died away as quick as she'd uttered it. "He's alive. I lost him in another way."

He recognized her tone—but  _God_ , he wished he didn't. "He betrayed you."

Hermione drew a deep breath, looking away as she exhaled.

Bucky could hear his own voice in his head, telling him to mind his business. Telling him not to pry.  _Shut up, Bucky. Shut_ up, _Bucky!_  But instead, he found himself asking, "Should I guess this has to do with the crazy Dark wizard who wanted you dead?"

"He, um . . . ." She didn't nod, or shake her head. Hermione moistened her suddenly parched lips with the tip of her tongue and then sighed. "He did something I can never forgive him for; he's rotting for the rest of his days. As much as part of me wishes things could be different, they're simply not, and I know I don't care to ever be with him, again."

He didn't know quite what to say to that. Did—did she think he was asking if she was over that Draco guy? Wait . . .  _was_  he asking that?

Before he could work up any response, she spoke, again. "My life with him is just one of the  _many_  things I lost in the War."

"Sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He shouldn't have nudged her to talk about it.

Sniffling, she forced a smile. "No harm done." She  _was_  upset by the discussion, yes, but she didn't want Bucky to misinterpret things. If she pushed his concern aside, he might think she was upset with  _him_ , or that she didn't appreciate his worry.

For a moment, he could swear the sounds of the forest died away as they simply stared at one another.

Tearing his gaze from hers, he looked toward the skyline. "It's going to be dark soon, you should get moving on this wand-thing."

"Right," she said, nodding as she climbed to her feet. "Hope this works, otherwise the only way we'll both fit in this tent is if I sleep on top of you."

He  _knew_  she meant that as a joke, but clearly she realized what she said the moment  _after_  the words had left her lips. She forced a feeble little giggle as his eyebrows climbed his forehead.

Getting to his feet, he looked down at her. "Look, Hermione, I think we need to address the elephant in the room."

A shivering breath escaped her as she nodded. "Okay."

A few strained heartbeats passed between them before he said, "I've seen what that hair looks like when you wake up. There's  _no_ way we're both fitting in that tent if you sleep with it down."

Hermione burst out laughing, slapping him on the shoulder—in hindsight, she was grateful she'd had the presence of mind to swat at his right shoulder instead of his left. "Idiot."

Cracking a grin, he nodded back toward the tree. "Go, do your witchy-thing."

She hurried across the clearing and he busied himself with gathering suitable kindling and firewood. As he worked he glanced over every now and then. He couldn't quite catch what she was saying, but he could distantly hear her voice. Perhaps she was chanting? No, it sounded more like she was talking to the tree.

From that tiny bag of hers, she'd produced a thick, leather-bound tome—fuck knew how much else she had in that thing—and a silver dagger with an ornate handle. He hunkered down before the small, currently un-lit fire pit and watched her. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see much.

She carefully ran her fingertips over the wood, as though looking for a particular spot as she continued to speak to it. Then, she tapped the blade against the trees trunk . . . and a small branch worked itself free from above and tumbled down into her waiting lap.

That was  _not_  what he expected. Bucky blinked a few times and then looked around, nearly as if he thought someone else might be there, watching him as he watched her. Of course, now he realized he'd completely forgotten that he'd wanted to tell her about Loki invading his subconscious earlier that day.

_Tomorrow morning,_ he thought _. I'll tell her tomorrow morning._ After all, hadn't she had enough for one evening, already, with him making her drudge up her past?

She spent quite a while after that, fiddling with the branch and the silver dagger. Though, she did pause to retrieve something that looked like the string of an instrument from her bag.

After what had to be an hour—and a lot more fidgeting and fussing with what was in front of her—she stood.

The sun was sinking in the sky, and the chill of nighttime in the forest began to creep into the area as she turned on her heel and started back toward him. Her smile was so brilliant, he could see it from where she'd been, even in the dying light.

"Here it is," she said, sounding thoroughly winded as she showed him the artfully twisted bit of wood—it actually looked kind of like a drawing he'd seen of a unicorn horn. "Hornbeam, eleven and one quarter inches, dragon heartstring core. I've never made  _anything_  so beautiful in all my life."

Bucky didn't think he could recall the last time he'd ever heard anyone so genuinely happy. He wanted to let her take a moment to marvel at her accomplishment, but the sooner they were covered, the better.

"It's amazing, Hermione," he said with a smile, nodding. "But I really need you to get to that warding, or whatever it was you said, so we can settle in for the night."

"Oh, right!" She smiled, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she gripped her wand with both hands. He was correct, of course, she knew that—they couldn't start the fire until she set the wards, as Loki might see it, and they hadn't eaten in  _hours._  "I haven't forgotten!"

And like that, she was off, making a slow, painstaking circle around their campsite as she waved her new, perfect wand in the air and muttered her enchantments under her breath.

* * *

Loki let his head fall back, a decidedly unattractive groan tearing from his throat. He was still walking through this bloody forest. He was beginning to  _loathe_ trees.

That was when he realized . . . .

He looked toward the night sky, once more. Those stars he'd glimpsed with his moment of dramatic flair, just now . . . they were the same as before, but  _now_ —He pulled out the orb and examined the image from earlier, once more. The trees, the rising moon was directly over the third one to the left, just as in the relic's surface.

Smirking, he cupped his hands around the orb and brought it close to his lips. "Show me more," he said in what was almost a sweet whisper, hoping that he'd managed to forge enough of a bond with the thing that it would do his bidding.

When he pulled it away, the ancient glass sphere showed a him a road sign.

Frowning, he put the orb away in its pouch and started for the road, just beyond the tree line a bit. He'd not ventured too deep into the forest, in the instance that getting back out proved a hindrance to him.

As he stepped out into the road, he scanned the area.  _There_. A bit further ahead was a road sign. Bolting over to it, Loki checked the writing. It matched what the orb had shown him.

Finally, the universe was smiling on him!

He extracted the orb just once more. "What now?" he whispered.

The lights within the orb flicked and swirled, morphing into an image of his witch. The sun had still hung in the sky, and she was walking into the trees with that oaf at her heels. She had either been here a few hours prior, or would be here tomorrow. Either way, he was right where he needed to be.

A wider view allowed him to see a Midgardian conveyance on the road side, far, but still within eye-line of where the two had disappeared.

He followed the tree line on the opposite side of the road with his gaze, back toward direction he'd come from, actually. And there it was, the decrepit looking vehicle from the orb's imagery.

Grinning, he held it up, gauging the distance to where they'd ducked into the forest.

"Well, now,  _there_  you are," he said with a chuckle as he moved to follow.


	7. Half-Crazy

**Chapter Seven**

Half-Crazy

Thor shouldered his way past Steve and Tony, yet the interaction barely seemed to register on the Asgardian's face. Five days they'd been poking around the abandoned, but extensive, alien complex that seemed to be all that existed on the planet the wormhole tech had sent them to. Thor had been quiet until sometime early yesterday.

_Yesterday_  he became agitated and distracted, but when asked, he couldn't furnish anyone with an answer for his change in demeanor.

They exchanged a glance before Steve turned, catching the other blond man around his elbow.

Thor halted, looking back over his shoulder. "Steve?" His voice came out steady, but he appeared vaguely startled that he'd not even noticed how he'd barreled right past them until just now.

Steve ducked his head and spoke low, trying to do the Asgardian the courtesy of not announcing whatever they might discuss to the entire, albeit empty, planet. "What's going on with you?"

Glancing at Tony before returning his attention to Steve, Thor shook his head. "I am . . . uncertain; I only have the feeling something is  _wrong_. I am going to contact Heimdall. His sight may help put my concerns at ease." He shrugged and gave a half-nod. "Or prove them correct."

Steve nodded in response as he dropped his hand back to his side. "Let us know as soon as you find out anything."

"Of course."

Once Thor was out of earshot, Tony loudly sucked his teeth, letting the obnoxious sound speak for him.

Broad shoulders drooping, Steve turned to meet his gaze. "I'm sure he's just being paranoid. We did what we could. If this has to do with Loki, we'll go home. It's not like this place is going anywhere."

Tony looked unimpressed with that answer.

"What  _exactly_  is your problem, here, Tony?" Steve knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the actual words. Tony had been grumbling under his breath since they had left Bucky at that dinner in Manhattan.

And not speaking his mind was just  _not_  Tony Stark. Steve didn't know if he should be grateful for the peaceful silence, or worried.

"All right,  _since_ you asked." Tony pushed away from the computer bank, against which he'd been casually leaning, and took a step toward Steve, his hands in the air as he shrugged. "I just happen to think leaving the fate of the world in the hands of a half-crazy super-soldier, who sometimes has trouble remembering his own name, with a cybernetic arm that—oops—once in a while just so happens to try and  _choke_  people wasn't our best plan."

Shaking his head, Steve uttered a derisive chuckle. "Okay. I get why you don't trust him, but  _I_  do, and it was the _only_  plan."

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut him off.

"Steve's right. We were left with very little in the way of options, and you know it."

Rolling his eyes, it was Tony's turn to toss his hands in the air. "You're taking  _his_  side? Big shock, there."

Natasha stepped between them, standing on her toes to press a kiss to Steve's cheek. "But," she said in a low tone, speaking with her face still close to his. "Tony's  _also_  right in worrying about the situation."

It took Steve a moment to collect himself, forcing a breath before he asked, "Are you flirting to disarm me?"

Biting her lip, she offered him a half-smile. "Maybe. Is it working?"

In spite of himself, he mirrored her expression. "Maybe."

Neither noticed Tony's disgusted expression in the background. " _God_ , will you two just get a room, already?"

"Shut up, Tony," they replied in unison.

With another roll of his eyes, Tony's entire frame slumped. He turned and went to find Clint and Sam, leaving the pair alone.

* * *

"All right!"

Hermione's voice sounded from behind Bucky. He turned to look as she jogged up to him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright as she caught her breath.

The sight of her like that caused a little jolt in the center of his chest—and other places—and he kicked himself to stay focused. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice the way he jammed his heel against the side of his ankle.

"That took a while," he said with a little smirk, though he was glad she was done. He didn't see a difference between their surroundings before, and now, but he had felt odd standing watch over a  _witch_  as they were stalked by, well, a  _god_. He wasn't really sure where that put him.

She nodded as she looked about. "I wanted to reinforce the protective enchantments before I saw to the tent, but that's done, now. C'mon, you have to see!"

He gestured toward the fire pit. "Uh, I thought I'd start the—"

"In a minute." Hermione wasn't really thinking as she spun on her heel, reaching back blindly to grab his hand. "You're going to  _love_  this!"

"Sure, yeah, okay," he said, as he let her tug him along behind her.

She was so excited, she practically bounced as she walked. As they reached the tent opening, she relinquished her hold on him to pull back one of the flaps. Stepping to the side, she gestured for him to go in.

Bucky cast her a cautious glance, but half-grinned as he said, "Is ladies first no longer a thing?"

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. "Just get  _in_ there."

He nodded. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself as he poked his head inside.

That breath came thundering out of him as he found what looked like a cozy hunting cabin inside their downright miniscule tent. A short flight of steps led down to a hardwood floor, and he was descending them before he even realized he'd moved.

His gaze touched on the simple area rug and coffee table set before a plush sofa, a fireplace—a fireplace  _inside_  a tent?!—two curtained rooms toward the back, and . . . .

"There's _actually_  a kitchen and a bathroom?"

"Small, modest ones, but they'll do for the night, won't they?"

Speechless, he fell into a sitting position in a leather armchair that faced the sofa and fireplace. "I—"

"And those rooms right there," she said, pointing to the two curtained-off rooms, "are the bedrooms. They're both pretty much the same, but you can choose whichever you like."

Bucky's jaw was slack and his blue eyes were enormous as he darted his gaze about their surroundings.

Hermione frowned as she gripped her wand in both hands. She thought she'd done quite a lovely job. Certainly better than the tents Harry'd charmed.

"It—it is all right, isn't it?"

Snapping his attention to her, he could only stare at her a moment as he shook his head. "Hermione, it's amazing."

She beamed at the praise.

"But why did you let me worry about a campfire if you  _made_ a fireplace?"

"Oh, that's easy!" She was off, ducking into the tiny kitchen—which was really just a stove, sink, and counter—and retrieving something from her pack, which she'd placed on said counter.

Bouncing back over to him, she held out a bag. "No one roasts marshmallows  _in_ doors, Bucky Barnes!"

Brow furrowing, he looked from her to the bag of puffy white confections, and back. "Hermione . . . ." Once more shaking his head, he took the bag of marshmallows from her hands and set them down on the coffee table. "We're on the run from a half-crazy, wannabe god, who—for all we know—might want us dead. And— _again_ , for all we know—might actually be able to do it. You can really think about something like roasting marshmallows?"

Her face fell and he instantly wished he could take back his words, but then he'd only spoken the truth.

Sighing, she lowered herself to sit on her knees on the rug and stared up at him. "I know. I know. But . . . ." She licked her lips and shook her head. "Look, for right now, we are  _safe_. I promise you. And it's been  _so_  long since I've felt safe—so long since I've known what it's like to _be_  safe. I just want to enjoy this, isn't that okay?"

His bottom lip poked out, but he remained silent as he thought about it. When was the last time he'd even eaten a damn marshmallow? Or  _laughed_? Or  _relaxed_? Not in so long that he could barely recall . . . until she stumbled into his life, yesterday afternoon.

"You should want that, too. When is the last time you got to  _not_  feel burdened?" she asked, as though reading his thoughts. " _Please_  just let me have this, Bucky?"

He was going to ignore that those big, chestnut eyes staring up at him had  _anything_  to do with his decision as he finally said, "Let's go roast some marshmallows."

She was a bundle of energy as she snatched up the bag and ran to the tent's entrance.

"I'm not even sure I remember what marshmallows taste like," he said, his tone thoughtful as he stood to follow.

Hermione stopped so suddenly, he nearly tripped over her as he caught up to her at the short flight of steps. "You don't remember . . . ?"

His brows shot up as she looked at him over her shoulder.

"That's it," she said with a firm nod. "I'm making a list of things to introduce—or  _re_ introduce—you to. Marshmallows, films, music—"

"Sounds like you're planning on sticking around a while after this is all over."

She didn't know if the tone in his voice was hopeful, or merely curious. Either way, she couldn't quite help herself as she gave him a quick once-over and replied, "Maybe I am."

With that, she ducked outside and Bucky couldn't help but smile as he followed.

* * *

Loki ran his fingers along a faint, shimmering tremor in the air. No, no . . . .  _Damn_.

A tear was close, he could sense it. Though he might overshoot them and be forced to backpedal, being out in the open this long was an exercise in paranoia.

It did not ease that unpleasant anxiety that he had the sudden feeling of being watched. No, no. No one was looking for him, but the sooner he could have a moment of concealment, the better he would feel.

He tried again. No, no, no . . . .  _There!_

He would pretend his shoulders hadn't drooped in relief just a little as he pulled the tear wide and slipped through, letting it snap shut behind him. Even then, however, he didn't feel much better.

Shaking his head, he started off toward the next opening into the physical plane. He wasn't at ease. He supposed he would likely feel better when he'd finally found them.

_Her_. When he'd found  _her_.

Growling at himself, he put the slip out of his mind and continued on. This had nothing to do with how much the thought of how he planned to torment that man delighted him. Simple mistake, because they were traveling as one, _nothing_  more.

Simply another item to tack onto the list of things for which he'd make that Midgardian brute pay, that was  _all_.

* * *

A scream tore Bucky from sleep. Shooting up from his bed, bolted around the wall that separated his room from Hermione's.

At first, he'd thought she was having another nightmare, but when he pushed back the curtains dividing her room from the rest of the tent, he found her sitting up on her bed.

She looked as though she'd been wrenched from sleep, herself. The dim illumination cast through the tent by the magical flames she'd lit in the fireplace before they'd turned in showed glimmering lines down her cheeks.

Her shoulders shook, but a strained moment passed before she made another sound. A strangled sob came out of her and she lifted her gaze to his.

She hadn't looked so tiny and helpless before, not even when she'd been bloodied and unconscious.

"The spell I cast . . ." she started, her barely-audible whisper garbled by the tears clogging her throat. "The spell I cast to find other surviving Muggle-borns . . . ."

He rounded the bed, sitting beside her as she fought to explain herself.

"It finally came back to me, I think—I think, because I have my wand, now . . . ." She shook her head, seeming to force out the words as another sob wracked her. "There's  _only_  me! They're all dead!  _All_  of them!"

Uncertain what to say, he shifted to sit behind her. He slipped his arms around her in a loose hug, and pressed his cheek to the top of her head, holding her as she cried.

A long while passed before her sobs slowed and quieted. Eventually, all he could hear was the shuddering of her breath as she inhaled and exhaled.

"I'm all alone, now," she said, her voice tiny—she knew she had Harry, of course, but his hands were full with rebuilding Wizarding Britain, and she refused to simply be another thing to burden him, nor would she drag him into this mess.

Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy. She knew she was exhausted, and this sense of loss had only drained her further. Was it odd that she was able to consider how nice it felt being held like this? To think about how comforting it was to feel the thumping of another person's heartbeat against her back?

"Well, you've got me," Bucky said, though his tone suggested that he thought himself a bleak option, at best.

She laughed, but it was a sleepy tumble of sound. "Please stay," she whispered, letting her eyes drift closed. "Just until I fall asleep?"

"Yeah . . . yeah." He swallowed hard as he nodded, folding his arms around her just a little tighter. "I'm not going anywhere."


	8. Wires Crossed

**Chapter Eight**

Wires Crossed

Oh, sweet blood and damnation! He'd overshot them!

Well, of _course_  he had! Loki groused internally as he shook his head, spinning on his heel to start back in the opposite direction.

When he'd stepped from the next tear, consulting the orb showed him the line of trees and wild shrubbery that was  _behind_  him. The indication that he needed to do an about-face if he had any hope of encountering them had not put him in the most pleasant of moods, despite his own foreknowledge that this very thing might occur.

Surely, now that the universe had put him so very close to the tools he needed, little,  _irritating,_  hiccups such as this  _would_  pop up along the way.

He paused midstride, fighting a yawn. Now that he thought on it, aside from those few moments of respite he'd taken that morning—which was now so  _very_ many hours ago, as he trampled through the forest in the near-pitch of night—he'd been walking for a day and a half.

Was he possessed of his true strength, this would not be an issue. But now, still weakened as he was?

Loki didn't want to rest until this was over and the Witch was his, but he knew he'd only hinder his own plans if he continued on as he was.

Cursing whatever force in the universe had created the need for sleep, he imagined a bed for himself. Yes, yes, he was  _well_  aware it was illusory—that he would, in fact, be laying on the ground, his head pillowed on the pouch in the orb was hidden—but at least it would  _look_  comfortable, and that had to count for something.

Gritting his teeth, he once more shook his head as he placed himself into that false image of comfort. Loki closed his eyes and attempted to will sleep to overtake him for a blessed hour, or two.

If anyone  _ever_  made him go to so much trouble again, he'd murder them in their sleep—usefulness to him notwithstanding.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes, aware of something warm and sturdy surrounding her. The feeling was comfortable . . . and  _safe_.

She'd felt secure like this as she'd fallen asleep, hadn't she? She must've, or she wouldn't have been able to fall into such a deep slumber.

That was when she heard it—the sound of soft, snuffling breaths close to her ear.

Inhaling deeply, herself, she caught the pleasant, fresh scents of crisp linen and the men's deodorant they'd purchased earlier that day. Of course, knowing she was likely to be in close quarters with the man, she'd insisted on giving the products a test-sniff, to be certain it was a smell she could tolerate.

What she could not account for was that she recalled falling asleep sitting up . . . and that there had been a faint wash of illumination from her enchanted flames dancing in the fireplace. Now, she was on her side, and staring into darkness.

Then again, she thought—chiding herself over how waking up mid-sleep was fuzzing her brain—that was probably what the solid warmth beneath her cheek was all about. She shifted by increments, not wanting to disturb him, to find that she was not imagining his proximity.

Rather than simply setting her down and going back to his own room after she'd fallen asleep, he'd laid on the bed with her. Her head was tucked beneath his chin and pillowed on his shoulder, with her cheek pressed to his chest. His metal arm was curled over her, protectively, but blocking the tent's dim illumination from her eyes.

_Her_  arms, were another matter . . . . One was around his waist, while the other was bent awkwardly between their bodies . . . and both her hands were gripped tight into the fabric of his shirt.

Like she was afraid to let go _._

Hermione wondered, now, if he'd stayed with her because of his own whims, or simply because, even in her sleep, she'd refused to relinquish her hold on him.

She pulled away just enough that she was able to angle her head to look up at him. Tilting her gaze like this, she could make out his features in the darkness.

He appeared so peaceful in slumber that it became difficult to imagine all the terrible things he said he'd done. That he'd been  _forced_  to do.

All the things that made him think of himself as a monster.

The lines of his handsome face were relaxed, the scruff that lined his chin and jaw had scratched and tickled at her forehead when she'd first shifted to peer at him, just now. She'd bitten her lip to hold in a giggle at that so she didn't wake him.

His mouth was open ever so slightly and she could just faintly see the flicker of his eyes moving beneath his lids. Hermione brushed aside the sudden impulse to reach up, to trace his lips with the tips of her fingers.

She wondered how long had it been since he'd slept under the unexpected comfort of simply feeling safe?

In the back of her mind, she could sense those awful, bitter memories from only a few short hours earlier clawing at her. No,  _no!_  She didn't want to feel that, again. Not so soon; she didn't think her heart could take it.

She'd always known what the outcome of her spell might be—had always known what answer she might receive. Yet, she'd not been the slightest bit prepared for that. Then again, she didn't think  _anyone_  could be.

Refusing to think on it, she tucked her head beneath Bucky's chin, once more. Her cheek pressed firmly against the solid warmth of his chest, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to roll over her.

* * *

_She felt a strange, buzzing jolt go through her . . . not an unpleasant sensation, simply_ odd.  _Opening her eyes, Hermione found herself in a room. Windowless, entry-less; four walls, a ceiling and a floor, nothing else._

_Perhaps she was in a box? She reasoned, in that bizarre way that_  all  _reasoning made sense in dreams._

_There was the faintest glow of golden light pouring from the walls . . . . In lines and curves that she couldn't fully see. She lifted her hand toward the surface, noting the way the metallic illumination spilled across her skin._

_"How are you here?"_

_Hermione whirled on her heel to face the other person in the room. She'd raised her hand on instinct, but found it empty. Of course! She had gotten far too accustomed to being wandless._

_She recoiled at the sight of him, despite that his handsome features were a sweet shock to her system . . . . Despite that the look of surprise on his face at finding her there seemed genuine._

_"Loki," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his as he stepped closer, towering over her._

_His green eyes narrowed as he shook his head, giving her a quick, appraising once-over. "You," he started, his murmuring voice pitched low and breathless, "were not meant to see this, yet. Not until_ I _deigned to show it to you."_

_So many things ran, screaming, through her head at that moment. She should step back from him—but to where? There was no exit from this room. She should shout at him for invading another dream, for thrusting himself into her life, in the first bloody place—as though she didn't have enough troubles?_

_Yet . . . he'd appeared so honestly shocked to find her here. Was it possible, her ever-working mind asked her, that_ this _time,_ he _was not the invader?_

_Swallowing hard, she ignored his question—and her own—and turned on her heel, redirecting her attention to the glowing walls. "What is this place?"_

_She could feel the heat of his body against her back as he stepped closer, still, and leaned down. His breath ghosted along the side of her throat and she found herself forcing away the memory of how it had felt to lay against him, to have his hands sliding against her skin beneath the bath water._

_"This place," he said, his lips so close they brushed her ear ever so slightly as he whispered, "is a mystery that you will help me unlock."_

_Hermione repressed a shiver dancing up her spine—a delicious shiver, but still. This was_ no  _time to get distracted with how disgustingly attractive he was. "Why should I help you do_ anything _?"_

_Loki tipped his head just a bit further forward, allowing him to see her face. Her gaze danced intently over the half-hidden symbols on the walls. He understood . . . she was in a memory he had of this place. Were they actually_ there _, the markings would be laid bare before her._

_Her eyes were wide, positively brimming with her rabid curiosity. Even as she fought not to respond to his closeness—he could tell that last bit from the way she kept squaring her jaw and how her lids drifted down in a series of quick, fluttering blinks every so often._

_"You will help me, because now_ you _want to know what this place is, too."_

_She was overcome with the strangest impression that he wanted to fold his arms around her. Perhaps that was just her imagination, though, but there was_ something _in his body language. The way he stilled behind her, all but frozen even as his warm breath still bathed her skin, made her think he was definitely withholding an impulse._

_And, standing this close together—especially with the remembered sensation of that first dream still thrumming through her veins—she thought it fairly safe to imagine that said impulse must certainly involve a desire to touch her._

_"Do you really not know what this place is?" she asked, her voice slipping out, cool and collected._

_"Know? Not with_ absolute _certainty, but I know what legend from Antiquity claims it as."_

_"And what does legend claim it as?"_

_He did close his arms around her, then—and she didn't stop him, dear_ God _, why wasn't she stopping him? Pulling her tight back against him, he pressed his forehead to her temple._

_His lips caressed the lobe of her ear as he spoke in that low, breathy whisper. "A place so singularly powerful that it can only serve a single purpose . . . for the one who unlocks its secrets, of course."_

_She had to force herself to focus, force herself to respond. "Is that why you want me? You believe_  I _can unlock this room for you?"_

_He nodded. "Though, not the only reason, it is the main one, yes."_

_In her drive to maintain her concentration, the questions came pouring out of her, even as she fought not to get too comfortable in his arms, yet still didn't pull away from him. "Why me? What single purpose? Do you determine it, or does the magic in this room, or do I as the one who unlocks it? How did you find this place? Who created it? How did they—?"_

_Before she even finished speaking, she found herself alone in the strange little room._

* * *

_Loki started, his gaze darting about as he was pulled from the room with his witch._

_He stood in an undefined space, blurry and grey at the edges, but what looked like some sort of Midgardian training facility filled the foreground. That brute was there, before him._

_Yet . . . ._

_He was not the broken creature he'd been in that previous dream. No. Now, he looked just as he had when he'd accosted Loki and stolen away the witch._

_Except that his arms were suspended above him by weighty chains. Held immobile by his bindings, the brute lifted his head, his attention toward the front of the room._

_There, the witch stood with her back to him, a projection playing before her eyes. Images shifted and flickered, showing the brute as he was lifted a firearm to his shoulder and lowered his head toward it to peer through the scope as he took aim . . . ._

_"How did I get here?" she wondered aloud. Her next words gave Loki yet another start. "I'd been in some strange room, with—"_

_"Hermione," he said, his voice thick as he shut his eyes against the images—against the things he knew his own memories were about to show her._

_Yes, he'd told her the rough scope of the things he'd done, but_  seein _g them—seeing how he imagined himself during those moments?_

_"Hermione," he said, again. "_ Please _don't look."_

_"Bucky?"_

_To his surprise, she nodded, spinning on her heel to put her back to the projected memories._

_"I don't want you to see me like that."_

_A sad little smile on her lips, she walked to him. "Why on earth are you chained?" she whispered, a laugh running beneath her words._

_He shook his head, his voice still so terribly low and lost-sounding. "I think so I couldn't stop you from watching, if you wanted to."_

_Frowning, she glanced about—pointedly keeping her back to the images playing behind her. Loki ducked into the fuzzy, shadowed edge of their surroundings, narrowly avoiding her roaming gaze. There were no keys to be seen, anywhere. Nothing with which to free him._

_Instead, she stepped closer, still. Slipping her arms around his neck, she hugged him. "When you're ready to share the details of these things with me, I'll let_ you  _tell me."_

_He poked his bottom lip out, not in the way he did when he thought hard on something, no. Now his chin trembled ever so slightly, making that adorably thoughtful expression into something heart-wrenching._

_"We've both seen enough on our own that we needn't burden one another with our private miseries . . . not until_ we're _ready to."_

_Closing his eyes, he dropped his head down on her shoulder._

* * *

Hermione snapped awake. The snuffling snores in her ear had died away.

Pulling back enough to look up, she found Bucky's gaze already on hers. For a moment, she found herself breathless. Here they lay in each other's arms, those blue eyes staring into hers and their faces so close.

Yet, her mind spun over what she'd just dreamed. Over  _both_  dreams.

Bucky watched her expression. Watched how she'd gone from vaguely startled, to dreamy, to serious.

Not as though there wasn't part of his brain poking and prodding him over how long it had been since he'd found himself in a bed with anyone, but something _far_  more complicated was going on, here. He'd had the strangest sense that somehow, even though he hadn't seen him, Loki had been present as those awful memories had played for Hermione.

Which only brought him back to that earlier dream, the one he hadn't wanted to open up completely about, for some reason.

He took a deep breath, but he and Hermione spoke at the same time as they said, "We need to talk."

* * *

Loki bolted upright as he awoke, the illusory bed vanishing in a blink. Darting his gaze about his surroundings, he found himself back in the forest, exactly where he'd been before all _that_.

_How . . . odd_ , he thought as he tried to understand what had just happened.

Quite without his permission, he'd found himself pulled into their slumbering minds. Well, he supposed that, technically, the witch—Hermione, the brute had called her—had been pulled into his. And then,  _somehow_ , they'd both been pulled into the brute's subconscious? The brute who had the unlikely name of  _Bucky_.

He pushed that aside with a tiny shake of his head. He would  _never_  understand Midgardian names.

Neither of them had seemed to notice him, but what the wi—what  _Hermione_  had said about having been in the room . . . .

With a decidedly unpleasant jolt, he recalled using the orb's power earlier. Recalled mingling it with his own, coercing it to aid him in invading their dreams that morning.

_There_  lay the culprit. The connection _he_  had forced through the power of his very precious relic. Were they  _all_ connected, now? The three of them?

He flicked a brow upward as he considered . . . . Now that he was aware of this, he could turn it to his advantage, couldn't he? Yes, he would have to remember this for future purposes.

The least of which being how seeing that Midgardian brute— _Bucky_ —in chains had given him a few rather lovely ideas.


	9. Reality Crashing

**Chapter Nine**

Reality Crashing

Hermione picked at her breakfast and sneaked quick sips of her coffee as she sat across from Bucky on the sofa. Turned out dehydrated foods weren't all that bad, once they were  _re-_ hydrated and cooked properly.

It occurred to her distantly that she'd not done much in the way of  _Muggle_ camping since before she'd been officially recognized as a witch. Maybe that old man had been correct to insist someone else double-check what she was doing—only not for the reason he thought.

Bucky alternated between picking at his own plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and darting his gaze around the—still amazing to him—cabin-like interior of the tent. It seemed he couldn't manage to keep his gaze on hers as he explained that first dream from yesterday morning.

"So he threatened you?" she asked when he'd finished, her chestnut eyes watching his movements as he lifted his coffee for a long swig. "And pretty much asked you to hand me over?"

He gave a sideways nod. That was more or less what happened, yeah.

"Why were you so reluctant to tell me this?" Even as she asked, she wondered if it could be for a reason similar to the one that made her not quite want to share the first dream of hers Loki had invaded, either.

"I don't . . . ." He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he bit his lip. "I don't know, it just felt—I can't put my finger on it, but there was just  _something_ else. And then, when whatever happened earlier happened, I think he was there, too."

"I didn't see him, but at this point, I don't think anything to do with Loki would surprise me."

"Okay, but . . . ." He set aside his mug and reached out, clasping his flesh-and-blood hand over one of hers. "It  _really_  did happen, right? You were there? You remember it the way I do?"

The first thought to race through her mind at the skin-to-skin contact was that he wasn't wearing his gloves. Other than the very specific moments of showing her his metal hand in the car night before last, and when he'd stepped from the shower yesterday, she hadn't seen him without them.

His hand was warm, the palm a bit rough against her knuckles . . . and his fingers dwarfed her own.

She nodded. "I'm pretty sure I do." He hadn't gone into specifics on the second dream, so she ticked off items for clarification. "There was a projection playing, I had my back to you. You were chained up . . . ."

He averted his gaze, then, and she wondered if the chains had been for more than restraining him from any attempt to prevent her from watching. Maybe they were a metaphor for something else. Feeling bound to his past, perhaps?

Yes, she thought, that made perfect sense, given what Bucky Barnes' past entailed.

She couldn't help poking fun at him, trying to keep him from brooding as she shook her head and spoke in a deliberately shy tumble of words, "Though I have to say . . . didn't quite hate the image of you tied up."

Those blue eyes flashed wide as he snapped his gaze back to hers. With a headshake of his own, he let out a surprised chuckle.

After his laugh died away, the two sat, staring at one another in silence. Things felt so . . .  _simple_  with her. Which, he realized was completely absurd, since the situation they were in was anything  _but_  simple.

Maybe it was because of her own past, maybe it was because she didn't know him enough to equate the horrors he'd committed with the man she saw before her. Whatever it was about her, it made him feel  _human_. It made it difficult to remember anything before these last two days—and just  _barely_  two days, at that.

Tearing his gaze from hers, Bucky laughed at himself.  _Shit._  He was smitten.

Even as he tried not to notice, he found himself hyper-aware of Hermione giving herself a shake and forcing out a breath.

"You said you needed to tell me something, too," he said, retrieving his mug for another sip, as though that  _almost_ -moment hadn't just happened.

"Of course." She cleared her throat and shifted on the sofa cushion, pulling her legs under her. Hermione was positive she would not be able to go into specifics about that first dream, but she'd give him as clear a picture as she could manage without blushing, bumbling, or getting tongue-tied.

"Well, if he was being truthful, then he told me what he wants with me . . . sort of."

Bucky's brows drew upward as he waited for her to elaborate.

Drawing in a sigh, she let the exaggerated breath out slowly. Then explained last night's dream to him in as much detail as she could recall clearly. She was admittedly curious about the room, about the symbols she could half-see.

About why Loki was so insistent  _she_  was the one who could unlock the room's secrets for him . . . .

And then . . . .

"But yesterday morning . . . while you were sleeping on the bed at the motel, I drifted off," she said, pausing to run the tip of her tongue over suddenly parched lips. "I suppose it'd be just before he dream-walked into  _your_  mind, then. He, um—well, you know sometimes you have a dream that's actually more of a memory?"

He nodded. That first dream Loki had  _slinked_  into had never actually happened; Bucky had no memory of waking before HYDRA found him in that snowy forest, but he could understand. Though, that particular imaging, he thought, had probably resulted from feeling a bit helpless in this very bizarre set of circumstances they found themselves in.

He'd been  _-less_  many things,  _help_ less wasn't one that he could ever  _rightly_  recall being, before this.

Hermione clasped her fidgeting hands in her lap and forced herself to continue. Her face scrunched up as she spoke. "I was dreaming a memory of a time with Draco . . . an  _intimate_  time."

Bucky's jaw dropped a bit and he blinked a few times.

"And Loki sort of took Draco's place." Snapping her eyes shut, she held up her hands in a sign of surrender. "I didn't realize! Not—not until it was almost over."

He tipped his head to one side, his expression questioning, but she hurried on before he could ask.

"They have a similar build and he was  _behind_  me, so I didn't notice until he spoke, all right?!"

Her cheeks were bright red and she was squirming in place so much that Bucky couldn't help bursting out in laughter at her revelation.

Hermione's eyes opened. Her shoulders drooped and the color drained from her face as she pursed her lips. She didn't see what was so funny about Loki taking advantage of the situation in such a manner.

"I'm sorry. I am, honest," he said as he took a breath. He shook his head. "I promise I wasn't laughing at _you_."

She cast him a doubtful look.

"Well, I _was_ , but not because of your dream."

"Why, then?"

Bucky heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He knew she wouldn't let it go until he told her. "Because of how shy you got while telling me."

"That's because I didn't want to tell you." Hermione shook her head. How preposterous—they'd known one another such a short time, yet she felt on the verge of tears suddenly as she went on. "When I realized it was Loki, I didn't stop him. And then I woke up and there you were, and I felt  _so_  guilty for it, and I dreaded the idea of telling you . . . ."

His brows drew together and he pouted. "Why?"

She frowned, her chestnut eyes narrowing. "Oh, you are thick sometimes, aren't you? Why do you  _think_?"

Bucky cracked a grin, turning his own words to himself on her. "Are you smitten with me?"

"Smitten?" she echoed, her eyebrows shooting up. She trying to equate Bucky's unintentional tough-guy appearance with the use of that term . . . only to remember that he was born in an era when such quaint sayings were common.

While she couldn't quite deny the truth of that simple little word, she couldn't stop herself from thinking that they were sidetracking. "Look, what I may—" Her eyes narrowed at him, once more, as his chin shook in a silent chuckle. "Or may  _not_  feel is not the issue, here. We need to think about how we ended up sharing a dream. That's pretty much unheard of, even in the magical world."

She was right. Dammit, he'd gotten carried away. They were  _going_  to round back to this discussion, he decided.

"Okay, maybe . . . . I mean, it's probably Loki's fault,  _however_ it happened."

Hermione nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Normally, she'd point out that blaming the party  _not_ present for the conversation was the easy path, but in Loki's case—and given that he'd dream-walked with both of them the day before—she was willing to wager that he was  _completely_  at fault.

"So," he said, darting his gaze about. "We, um, we're probably not going to get anymore answers sitting around. We should be on the move, already."

"Sure, yeah. Okay."

She left her dishes where they were—aware they would vanish when she dispelled the enchantment on the tent—and stood. Bucky got to his feet at the same time, and she found herself simply standing before him, staring up into his face.

It seemed she had never been more aware of anything in her life than she was of him raising his arm, of the sensation of his fingertips sliding over her skin as he slipped his hand along her jaw to cup her face.

He swore he could  _feel_  it when she inhaled, only to let out a shivering breath. Those brown eyes drifted closed as he watched her expression, as he watched her turn her cheek, pressing more firmly into his touch.

She let out a quick, breathy laugh. "We're supposed to be leaving."

"Yeah," he said, biting his lip.

Hermione still didn't open her eyes. She was almost afraid of what would happen if she did. "So what are we doing?"

"No idea."

"We need to stop, and revisit this later, I think," she said, forcing a sniffle as she finally opened her eyes and stepped back from him.

Bucky let his hand drop to his side, nodding. "Probably wise."

She turned toward the rooms to fetch her pack when she felt a little jolt ring through her. "Wha—?"

Glancing at Bucky over her shoulder, she saw a bewildered expression flicker across his features. Whatever that feeling was, he'd sensed it, too.

His brows pinched together as he met her gaze. "Loki?"

Swiveling on her heel to face him fully, she shook her head. "Can't be. How would we even—?"

_"Oh, Hermione? Do come out into the open, dear."_

Hermione's eyes widened, Bucky mirroring her expression. Of course—Loki had been present in Bucky's dream last night. He'd heard them speak each other's names.

"I thought you said that . . . enchantment would keep him from seeing the tent."

She nodded. "It does! Maybe . . . if we can sense him, he can probably sense us. We'll have to worry about how later."

Dashing to her bedside, she grabbed her pack and her beaded bag. A petrification spell should be enough to subdue even an Asgardian long enough for her to Apparate them somewhere, she considered.

She wouldn't waste time thinking on how wonderful it was having a wand again, just now.

Hurrying to the opening of the tent, she poked her head out. There he was, striding through the bright morning sunshine of the small forest clearing.

He turned this way and that as he moved, the light glinting off a glass sphere sitting in the palm of his open hand. Loki appeared to be glancing into it every few steps.

"You should know I  _will_  find you," he said, a grin curving his lips.

Her eyes narrowed as she focused for a moment on the sphere. What _was_ that? Some sort of Dark Artefact, perhaps? That would make sense.

Was  _that_ how he had found her?

Hermione stepped out, letting Bucky follow her into the open, yet still guarded by her protective enchantments. Would that dark item Loki held breach her magical shielding?

She wasn't about to find out—he hadn't spotted them yet, so now was the time to get far from here  _without_  giving away their true proximity to him. Dispelling the enchantment on the tent, she turned toward Bucky.

The sound of thunder crashing shook the ground beneath their feet. Hermione reached out, gripping Bucky's arm to steady herself.

As she looked up, she found Loki glancing frantically about the sky above their heads.

"Oh, no you don't," he said in a lethal whisper . . . before vanishing in front of their eyes.

In a bright flash and another jarring clap of thunder, a small group appeared in the center of the clearing. The six—one woman and five men, and Hermione would wager she could name them all from Bucky's descriptions in the car that first night—were on-guard as they turned their heads, examining the area.

"Are those who I think they—?"

"Yeah. Yeah," Bucky said, nodding. "You can break the enchantment or whatever you do. They're safe."

Nodding Hermione did just that.

The sudden appearance of two extra people—and a tent?—gave the group a start. But the familiar countenance of Bucky Barnes took the edge of their wary expressions.

"Buck, thank God." Steve shook his head, breaking from formation to step forward. "Where's Loki?" He glanced from his friend, to the campsite, and finally to the girl standing with Bucky.

She quite visibly forced a gulp down her throat. In one hand she held a  _wand_ —seriously,  _was_  that a magic wand?—and with the other, she gripped Bucky's arm. His  _metal_  arm. The gloves he normally wore missing, and her fingers clung tight enough that she had to know that was  _not_  flesh and blood in her grasp, without flinching.

Shaking her head, the girl spoke. "He vanished a moment before you all appeared."

Tony's brows shot up at her accent, despite that her words had spurred two of the newcomers into action—Clint and Sam moved from the group to circle the clearing, weapons drawn. "Oh, great. Thor, she's one of yours."

At that, Hermione and a tall,  _broad_ , blond man—whom she could only assume was Thor, what with him appearing so  _very_  Thor-like, and all—both fixed the snarky, walking suit of armor with questioning looks.

Bucky ignored the usual Tony bullshit, shaking his head as he nodded toward the twisting knot-work burned into the ground beneath the group's feet. "What the hell—?"

Steve shrugged. "Heimdall gave us a lift." He rolled his eyes a bit as he shook his head. "Only way to get us to exactly where you—and Loki, apparently—were."

"Right." Bucky exchanged a look with Hermione.

"So what's your story?" Natasha said, making a beeline for the only other female present.

"Um, I—" Much to everyone's surprise, the girl looked to Bucky as she paused.

"It's okay. I told you, they're safe." Bucky sighed when Hermione still seemed reluctant. "Hermione, the Avengers. Avengers, Hermione."

"I'm why Loki is here." Hermione hurried on before anyone could let imaginations run wild on that statement, alone. "I didn't  _bring_  him here, I never met him before two days ago. He's just . . . he's after me."

Natasha furrowed her brow, her green-eyed gaze holding the other woman's. "Why? What's he want with you?"

" _What_  is a bit fuzzy, complicated, and probably best not gone into in the open. Why, I  _think_ , is because I'm a witch."

"Huh." Eyeing the elegant wand in Hermione's lowered hand, Nat turned on her heel, looking to Steve. "We should probably get them to the tower."

Steve noted her pointed use of the word  _them_ , spotted how the girl was still holding to Bucky's arm. He couldn't miss how Bucky stood—half-a-step in front of her, shielding her.

He tried not to grin—this wasn't really the time—as he considered that Bucky'd probably had some story to fill him in on when they got clear.

"You go," Thor said, turning his gaze toward the trees. "I will stay behind and search for signs of my brother."

Steve nodded. Turning his attention to Bucky and Hermione, he waved for them to follow as he and the others started toward the edge of the clearing.

Hermione kept her wand drawn, but moved to Bucky's other side, slipping her hand into his right as they trailed behind the group.


	10. His & Hers & Theirs

**Chapter Ten**

His & Hers & Theirs

"Yes, Brother," Loki said in a mirthful whisper as he watched Thor scour the forest. "Where could I  _possibly_ have disappeared to?"

Though, he did have to chuckle at the circumstances. Hadn't he thought, when this first began, that  _his_ Midgardian oaf—Bucky, he had to remember that bizarre name—would likely get on well with Thor and his lot, who were, admittedly  _also_  Midgardian oafs?

Indeed, the only tolerable one was that red-haired female. After all, anyone capable of tricking  _Loki_  was worth higher consideration.

Perhaps he should have suspected they already knew one another, but then Midgard was  _so_ densely populated that guessing any such thing outright would've been madness on the face of it.

He couldn't help a smirk as he continued observing that familiar lumbering figure from the safety of a particularly unassuming animal form he'd chosen as disguise on a whim. It wasn't one of his usual choices, and he doubted he'd ever choose something so . . . minuscule and defenseless again, but for the moment, it served its purpose.

There was an odd feeling prickling at the back of Thor's neck. Like he was being watched.

Pausing mid-stride, he glanced about the densely wooded area that ringed the clearing where they had found the one called Bucky and his witch. He gripped his fingers tighter around Mjolnir's haft as he turned toward the source of the unpleasant sensation.

. . . And then his massive shoulders drooped at the sight of the unimposing woodland hare eyeing him. A little of the tension went out of him, right then.

He had thought he was being stealthy, yet to their sensitive ears, it must seem he was making quite a ruckus. Nearly every animal nearby had either scampered away, or was frozen solid and watching him curiously.

Thor lowered his weapon as he stared at the bunny—the floppy-eared, sandy-brown, twitchy-nosed  _bunny_. He shook his head. Of course, this was just his luck.  _This_  close to being caught? Loki was too clever for that.

His brother was long gone from the area, already.

Hurried footfalls sounded in the distance and Thor turned instantly in their direction. On instinct, he raised Mjolnir as he moved, ready to throw—or strike.

Meters off, he spotted the all-too-familiar head of jet hair disappear amongst the trees.

Biting back a curse, he took off after his brother.

When the lumbering would-be King was out of sight—and earshot—the  _bunny_  snickered, releasing the illusion of  _Loki_  darting through the forest. Though, he would remain like _this_ , at least until he was certain Thor, and Mjolnir, were unable to reach him.

Deciding it best to move like the creature he was for the time being, rather than a man currently shaped like a rabbit, he stood, his ridiculous little nose twitching as he scanned for the nearest tear.

Oddly, he did not see it, but he could sense its closeness.

Back toward the clearing he scampered, following the faint electric pulse. He moved cautiously, his attention trained just as much on the sounds around him—assuring himself that those lumbering footsteps were not returning—as it was on the sights ahead of him.

A large tree, slightly different from those surrounding it stood toward the back of the clearing. Yes, he remembered it from his stroll through this area just a short while ago.

As he moved forward, he turned his head, taking in the entirety of the patch of grassy earth. There was the tent his witch had managed to hide, somehow.

_Somehow_   _. . .?_  With magic, obviously. He was simply still a bit astounded that she had managed to hide from the orb.

That odd, oh-so-faint, buzzing was coming from the tree.  _No_ ,  _no_ , he thought as he approached. It was coming from _behind_  it. Even if the girl had any sense of such things, she might not have noticed it, unless she was  _searching_  for it, specifically—as he was.

He cast a cursory glance about the clearing, and the ring of trees concealing it from the rest of the forest. The animals were calm, settled in the wake of his brother's bungling, and he could hear no thrashing or stomping in the distance, either.

In hindsight, he would suppose that such paranoia whilst he was so perfectly disguised was unnecessary. But, when it came to Thor—and Thor's temper,  _and_ Mjolnir at the ready—Loki would  _always_ err on the side of caution.

Satisfied he'd adequately distracted his brother, Loki slunk around the base of the tree.

And  _there_  it was . . . . With a relieved sigh—it wasn't too far-fetched to imagine that after how unexpectedly taxing these last few days were, he might be imagining things—he slipped through.

After one last peek back through the tear, he sealed it behind himself. Assuming his true form, he gave a leisurely stretch and withdrew the orb from its pouch.

They couldn't have gotten _too_ far, just yet.

He seated himself neatly on the forest floor of the astral realm—a misty, ephemeral mirror-image of what appeared in the physical world. With a deep breath, he cupped the orb between his palms and lifted it to his waiting gaze.

"Show me where she is," he said in a purring whisper.

The glass sphere flickered to life, light and color moving and swirling beneath its gleaming surface.

An image swam into focus—Hermione was seated inside a large Midgardian vehicle; his brother's precious Avengers chatted around them, their voices hushed. Her head down on  _Bucky'_ s shoulder, she dozed peacefully.

"Oh," he said with a grin, "time for another visit, I see?" His grin teetered between delighted and wicked. "Let us see if I can make this an  _interesting_  one, shall we?"

* * *

Hermione was in a bit of a daze as they were led about—the admittedly rather impressive—Avengers Tower on a guided tour. It was not the gleaming, hi-tech grandness of her new surroundings, nor how fast their circumstances had changed that had her blinking rapidly time and again, and struggling to focus on Natasha's words as the redhead pointed out this room, and that internal facility.

It was not even her attempts to ignore the not-at- _all_ -subtle amused and thoughtful looks Natasha and Steve kept tossing one another over the fact that Hermione's hand clung to Bucky's, still. Though, she did find it adorable watching Bucky pretend not to notice the shared observation to which they were being subjected.

As they'd sat in the back of a simple black vehicle—so inconspicuous that it was actually _quite_  conspicuous, she thought—she'd dozed off. The hum of the motor, the lulling vibrations of the wheels moving beneath them . . . .

She'd let her head drop down against Bucky's shoulder, thinking she would simply close her eyes for a few moments. That even with managing  _real_  rest last night for the first time in Merlin only know how long, she was still worn, and taxed, and drained from all she'd been through.

And not just the last three days, but everything that had led to Bucky—and Loki, too—becoming such definable parts of her life in such a short time.

Bearing  _that_  particular thought in mind, she couldn't stop herself from wondering . . . As she drifted along the corridors, Bucky's presence by her side the only thing keeping her from tripping over her own two feet, she wondered . . . .

Had her troubling dream during her little nap been Loki's meddling, once again, or some bizarre fantasy entirely of her own creation?

* * *

_She blinked a hazy fog from her eyes, giving her head a shake. Where, exactly, was she now? Seated on some bench against a cold wall, was all of which she was currently aware._

_The last thing Hermione recalled clearly was meeting Bucky's allies, acknowledging that she was safe from Loki for at least a little while. And then . . . ._

_What?_

_It was no use. Even as she fretted and tried to focus, she still couldn't recall._

_She lifted her gaze to glance about her surroundings. The grey walls were familiar—she'd seen them before, hadn't she? Just recently, yes. Fuzzy and indistinct around the furthermost edges._

_Like some sort of antiquated training facility, perhaps?_

_Nodding, she stood up and reflexively dusted herself off. She took a step toward the larger area of the facility to investigate—obscured from her view by containers and a chain-link fence to which she'd not paid much attention the first time she'd seen this place. But then, she'd been so focused on what had been in the foreground, hadn't she?_

_Then she heard it, causing her to halt in place._

_A low, pained groan, followed by the rattle of metal-on-metal. And . . . was that a whispering voice? It sounded_ familiar _._

_Before she even instructed her body to move, she was walking toward those sounds. Wincing as she neared a break in the fence and stacks of containers, she tried to step lightly—to make as little noise as possible, so she might get a look at what was happening before deciding how to react to whatever the situation might be._

_"Oh, it_  is _rather delectable, how you struggle so."_

_She just barely held in a gasp as she recognized Loki's voice—there was_  no _forgetting the way he sounded as though he was purring when he whispered like that. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she leaned close the edge of the fence._

_"You know she hates you, right?"_

_. . . Bucky's voice. Oh, Merlin, no! Now that metal-on-metal sound made sense. It was another of those dreams in which he found himself helpless, utterly unable to prevent something._

_Yet, she had no wand!_ She _was helpless, as well. Fine turn of events, this was!_

_Biting her lip to hold in an angry little growl at her luck, she dipped her head around the end of the fence in a slow, calculated movement. She was not eager to alert Loki to her presence until she came up with some sort of plan to free Bucky._

_"No," Loki said with a chuckle—punctuated by another groan. "She does not. I know it, and you know it._ She _knows it, too."_

_Hermione's hand dropped to her side and her jaw fell. It was all she could do to keep herself from gasping this time as she looked upon the scene before her, her eyes so wide she thought—distantly and dimly—that they might fall from her head._

_As in the last dream, Bucky was bound, his arms suspended above his head by the thick, weighty chains . . . . Unlike the last dream, he was bare from the waist up, and his skin was damp._

_Loki stood before him, fully clothed—though she had the presence of mind to be uncertain if she was upset or grateful for that. The jet-haired man tsk'ed, his head tipped to one side as he traced the tips of his long, elegant fingers along the muscles of Bucky's abdomen._

_Leaning near, Loki brought his mouth so close to Bucky's ear, she thought for certain his lips must brush the other man's skin as he spoke. "I am really not so terrible, you know." He was whispering, yet Hermione could hear him clearly. "The witch is mine, already. The sooner you accept this simple truth, the easier this will be on all of us."_

_There was that groan again. Not pained, as Hermione first thought. Frustrated—she already knew Bucky so well in just the few short days they'd had together, that she could see his emotions clearly in his expression. He was conflicted. He wanted to struggle, yet wanted to remain just as he was, at the same time._

_She swallowed hard as she continued to observe the interaction. Did he . . .? Did he actually_ like  _what Loki was doing to him?_

_Hermione tried to tell herself her pulse hadn't sped up just a bit, and a blush hadn't flared in her cheeks at that thought._

_"I could make_ you _mine, as well," Loki whispered, dipping his head to run the tip of his tongue along the other man's collarbone. Another groan. "Then we could_ share _her."_

_And she certainly_ wasn't _feeling a pooling warmth low in her body, nor a sweet little ache between her thighs at the mental pictures conjured by Loki's words._

_"I—I don't think so," Bucky said, still obviously struggling with himself over whether or not_ to _struggle._

_"I think she would quite like the idea." Another tip of his head, another stroke of his tongue across Bucky's damp skin. "Why do we not simply ask_ her _?"_

_Hermione started, every inch of her flushing, to suddenly find both of their heads turned toward her—green eyes and blue fixed unerringly on her._

_"Well, my dear?" Loki said, a smirk curving his lips as his fingers trailed down, over Bucky's abdomen, once more. Lower still, past his navel, tickling at that dusting of dark hair._

_She found herself taking a step toward them, her body moving quite of its own volition as Loki asked, "Are you enjoying this?"_

* * *

"Hermione!"

She gave a start, her eyes snapping up to find Bucky's gaze on hers. His hands were clamped—delicately—around her shoulders. Despite the worry in his expression, she found herself fighting a blush at the mere sight of him.

She'd been so caught up simply recalling that dream that she had completely lost track of what had been happening around her.

"You okay?" he asked, giving her an appraising once-over.

"Yes, um, yes." She shook her head and frowned. "Sorry, I guess I'm still a bit drained from using so much magic in a short amount of time."

"Well, we'll let you get some rest," Natasha said, her husky voice kind as she reached out, touching Hermione's arm beneath where Bucky held her.

"I'm so sorry." Hermione shook her head again, her brows pinched in an anxious expression. "You're being so gracious, and yet you're going to have to remind me of all this tomorrow, as I don't think I've remembered a word you've said."

Nat's eyebrows shot up, but she only laughed, exchanging another of those glances with Steve. Though, Hermione imagined this one was about how sweet-tempered  _Bucky's witch_  probably seemed—Oh, if only they knew what her temper was _actually_ like!

"Don't even worry about it, really." Natasha pointed to a door Hermione only noticed  _now._  "We were actually just showing you where you'll be staying. These are guest quarters, Spartan, for temporary stay, since we don't know how long you'll be with us. Hope that's all right."

Hermione almost smirked, but wondered if the master assassin was aware she could  _temporarily_  make that room appear however she wished. "I'm sure it'll be fine, thank you so much." Bucky had moved back to her side and she barely refrained from elbowing him in the side as he chuckled under his breath, likely thinking the same thing she just had.

Nat nodded and offered an understanding grin. "Debriefing can wait 'til you've gotten some rest."

"Buck," Steve said, gesturing toward another door. "You're going to be—"

"No."

Hermione felt all three sets of eyes on her immediately after the word had fallen from her lips.

Nat's lips folded inward to hold in an entirely different type of grin. Steve's gaze leaped from his friend, to the petite, wild-haired witch at his side, and back.

Bucky echoed the word, his head shaking in question as she met his gaze. "No?"

Clearing her throat, she stood a little straighter. "I said  _no_. You are  _not_  staying in a separate room."

His brow furrowed for a moment, genuinely uncomprehending of what was upsetting her. "It's  _right_  next to yours. If anything happens, I'll be right—"

"I don't care how close or far it is. You are staying with  _me_."

Bucky's eye drifted closed, his lip poking outward in that trembly way that undid her. For a moment, where they were, that they had an audience, fell away.

She reached up, cupping his jaw with her hands. There was something strangely comforting in the feel of his exaggerated five o'clock shadow scratching gently against her palms. "Please?"

Those broad shoulders of his drooped under the impossible weight of that tiny, one-word question.

"I feel safe with you."

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze unflinching. He wanted her to be right _so_  bad—he wanted to never harm her, but how could she know that would never happen? Yet, she was going on before he could work up anything to say.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you stop this pity-party right this instant," she demanded with a laugh. "Do you know that last night, I slept— _actually_  slept—for the first time in so long I can't even remember? And the only difference is that _you_  were there."

Forcing a gulp down his throat, he dropped his forehead down against hers.

"Please?" she said, again.

She didn't know how long they stood there, waiting for his answer. All the while she found herself able to focus on nothing but the feel of his breath on her cheeks, of his skin—and even his bristly stubble—against hers hands.

"Okay," he managed after a deep breath.

"God, are we ever that dramatic?" Natasha asked Steve in a stage whisper.

"Depends who you ask," he whispered back with a chuckle.

Hermione couldn't help an embarrassed laugh as their quips reminded her that she and Bucky were not alone.

"Well, okay, then," Nat said, her green eyes sparkling with amusement as she punched a code into the numbered panel beside the door. "I suppose we'll let you two get some _sleep_."

Neither Hermione nor Bucky missed the look Steve shot Natasha as the door slid open. There was no deterring whatever the redhead was going to think, anyway.

"Thank you, both. See you in the, um, morning," Hermione said with a nod and hurried into the room. She heard some quick, quiet parting words between Bucky and Steve, and then two sets of footfalls retreating down the corridor.

He stepped into the room and the door slid shut behind him.

She was all too aware of his presence, though she had not turned around. Though he'd moved quietly, and the door was silent.

This was her doing. Yet now, as she stood here with him, she couldn't help wondering if she could even pivot to look up at him.

What with the blush she knew was already flaring in her cheeks, and her thoughts once more tumbling over whether that dream had been something from Loki's imagination . . . or her own?


	11. Bare Bones in the Mire

**Chapter Eleven**

Bare Bones in the Mire

Hermione turned slowly, meeting Bucky's gaze. That rich, blue gaze that could go from fiercely protective to lost and broken so fast, the change tore at her heart. In the quiet of  _their_  quarters, she could hear his breath as he exhaled—thought for certain her heart was beating so loud, he could hear the thump of it against her rib cage.

He was waiting for her to say something, to do something.

And all she could think was how hard she was falling for him. It seemed utterly absurd. Less than a week they'd known one another, yet they seemed to have been through so much . . . .

But then there was Loki, and whatever strange magic he was using intensifying their connection. So, maybe it  _wasn't_  so absurd, after all.

Yet, they weren't on even terms, not really. Not yet. In their very first discussion, he'd shared the deepest, darkest part of himself, because he'd needed her trust—he'd hardly given her detailed accounts, but he had told her enough that there was _no_  ambiguity about his past.

But he'd trusted her after learning only the bare bones of hers.

Something in her expression must've alerted him to her inner turmoil— _or_ , she thought _, the fact that I've been staring at him in silence for a solid two minutes might've clued him in_ —because he stepped closer, cupping her cheek with his right hand.

"Tell me," he said, his voice tumbling out in a whisper. "Whatever's got you making that face,  _just_  tell me."

She nodded, feeling stuck for a moment as she held his gaze. "Um, there's just . . . there's just  _one_  thing I have to do first."

"Sure, okay. What—?"

Before Bucky could finish the question, she slid a hand around the back of his neck. Pulling his face toward hers and bouncing up on her toes, she closed the distance between them.

Her mouth pressing to his caught him by surprise, but instinct took over immediately. His arms slipped around her to pull her against him as he tilted his head, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue to dart inside.

Giddy at his response, she eagerly caressed his plunging tongue with her own. Her fingers tangled in the long hair at the back of his neck as she playfully nipped and suckled at his tongue.

After a few pulse-quickening minutes, she broke the kiss. Dropping her forehead down against his chest as they caught their breath a little, she whispered, "You remember what I said in your dream? That we needn't share our private miseries until we're ready?"

"Of course."

"I'm ready. I want to tell you . . . about—about what happened with Draco."

Nodding, even as he darted his gaze about the room, he said, "Not where I _thought_  you were going with that kiss, but okay."

Hermione giggled and shook her head before looking up at him. "I . . . . Look, I know what you've been through, so you deserve to know what I've been through, too."

Nodding again, he slipped his arms from her to grasp her hand in his. He led her to the bed and sat her down, settling on his knees on the floor before her. That this was a reversal of the way they'd sat in their quaint enchanted tent the evening prior was not lost on either of them.

"I'm listening," he said, his hand giving hers a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

* * *

Loki wandered through the rolling, inky darkness. This was quite the predicament in which he found himself. After popping into her head to show her that pleasant little fantasy, he'd gotten a bit . . . lost in the mire, it seemed. Now he had to find his way back out of her subconscious.

That could only mean he'd slipped from his trance into sleep. Blast it all. Now, rather than controlling his visit, he was at the whims over whenever his still sleep-deprived body decided it time to wake.

Light bloomed around him, an image shooting past, just a bit too quick for him to see clearly.

Then, it whirled back, circling . . . . She was concentrating on the image.

_I'm ready. I want to tell you . . . about—about what happened with Draco._

Loki's brows shot up as he connected the pale-haired young man she was focused on with the name his witch had called him in that first dream.

"Oh," he said, aware he was tapping into her current stream of consciousness—that as she made her revelations, the memories would play out before him—he settled down, leisurely resting his arms over his bent legs. "A _show_? How thoughtful."

The next image opened before him. Hermione following a dark-haired young man with spectacles into the forest to bid him farewell, away from the safety of an odd-seeming tent.

* * *

"Harry and I decided we needed to separate." She chewed her lip, her gaze on the floor. For a moment, she wasn't certain she actually wanted to continue, but Bucky seemed to sense her ill-ease, giving her hand another comforting squeeze.

Forcing a breath, she nodded. "It was too dangerous, all of us traveling together like that. He was the boy of prophecy, after all, the one destined to defeat Voldemort, I was  _the_ most known Muggle-born in the whole of Wizarding Britain, and Draco, the only son—and heir—of Voldemort's most faithful and ardent supporting family. If they caught all of us in one, fell swoop . . . ."

Nodding his comprehension of just how bad that would probably be, Bucky rose just a little, moving to sit beside her on the edge of the bed.

"So, Harry and I said our goodbyes—he and Draco, though they would fight alongside one another, they'd never been what you'd call friends. They really only put up with one another for my sake," she said, uttering a sad little chuckle as she shook her head.

"A few weeks passed, and the reports of Harry's activities made it hard to pin down where he was. I was glad, because each one meant he was still alive, still on the move." A mirthless smile curved her lips. "Still fighting the good fight."

For a long time, she fell quiet. Her gaze still on the floor, she tried not to get too caught up in the memories swirling through her mind.

* * *

In the scenes before him, night had fallen across the forest. It seemed each day they packed up and moved to a different location, evading an enemy they hadn't seen, but whom they obviously seemed to feel was close by, lurking somewhere just beyond the edge of their perception.

_The witch stirred, reaching a hand across the bed toward Draco's side. The cotton of the empty pillow was warm beneath her hand._

_Shifting to sit up, she blinked drowsily a few times._

_Voices in the main room of the tent drew her attention and she jumped up without thought. Jogging toward the discussion, she said, "Harry, you're not supposed to be . . . ."_

_A man with long, silver-blonde hair stared back at her, his features strikingly similar to the young man beside him, only aged about twenty years. "I_ am _sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger," he said in a saccharin tone, "but I have not seen Mr. Potter for quite some time."_

_Draco looked worried, but the older wizard was nonplussed as the girl darted back to the bed. Flipping back her pillow, she found the space beneath it bare._

_Her features twisted in a mix of anger and panic as she stomped back toward the father and son. Ignoring the newcomer entirely, she turned a venomous gaze on the younger man._

_"Draco," she said, her voice sliding out in a lethal whisper. "_ Where _is my wand?"_

_Draco's father turned on his heel, strolling toward the opening of the tent, as though he was there on holiday and in no rush to leave. "I suppose this is my cue to leave you to speak, alone."_

_Hermione didn't even glance in his direction. Not until he left, and she heard the_ very _distinct sound of wood snapping. She didn't want to believe what she thought had just happened, but the way Draco winced left no question._

_"My wand!"_

_She rushed to follow the older wizard, but Draco caught her by the shoulders. "Hermione, stop. Stop! You_ have _to listen to me!"_

_"I don't have to do_  anything  _you ask of me, you bloody_ traitor _!" The witch was so incensed, she made up for his immediate pinning of her arms against her sides by trying to kick at him._

_"We're_ caught  _Granger! We've nowhere else to run," he said, his grey eyes clouded, as though he couldn't understand why she didn't appreciate the gravity of the situation. "Do you_ really _think my father is here_  alone _?"_

_Hermione stilled in his hold, angry tears welling in her eyes. "And you just handed him my wand while I was_  sleeping _," she muttered the words, her voice tight._

_Draco's eyes drifted downward as he shook his head. "I was afraid that if you went on the offensive, they'd hurt you."_

_She snapped her gaze up, then, to lock on his. "How lucky for me, then, that_ you _saved them the trouble."_

_He swallowed hard, forcing himself to ignore the sting of her words. "Hermione," he started, hoping his use of her given name would perhaps garner a bit more of her focus and consideration. "I've been offered a deal. One that will guarantee your safety."_

_Her brows shot up. "You were offered_  a deal, _did you just say?_ Seriously _!"_

_Shaking his head, Draco closed his eyes once more and lowered his head. "Nothing will happen to you. Your life will be spared if . . . ."_

_Hermione did not like the way he paused. His reluctance to continue made her think that she already knew the conditions of this deal he was offered on her behalf, that didn't actually include_ her _._

_"If you're willing to lead my father to Potter."_

_She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sacrifice Harry's life for her own? Had Draco learned_ nothing _from his time spent with them?_

_He seemed genuinely puzzled by the boisterous sound, until she said a simple. "No."_

_"Hermione,_ please _."_

_She tipped her chin back in a gesture of defiance. "No."_

_Shaking his head, he drew his wand on her. There was no masking the shock, or the flash of pain, in her eyes as she backpedaled away from him._

_"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, his voice thick and a damp sheen in his grey eyes. "But you're not leaving me any choice."_

Loki's jaw set and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he watched the betrayal unfolding before him.

* * *

Hermione paused in her telling, shaking her head. "In the magical world, there are enchantments, hexes, spells, and curses . . . not like the one Voldemort cast on the Muggle-borns."

Though he remained silent, Bucky placed his metal hand on her back. Trying to be as gentle as he could manage, he circled it between her shoulders in—what he  _hoped_ was—a comforting gesture.

"There are three, specifically, called the Unforgivable Curses. One kills on contact, one causes blinding, crippling pain, that—after prolonged, or repeated applications—can drive someone mad. And the other . . . ." She shrugged, leaning back against his hand. Hermione swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep tears at bay as she said, "The other gives you control over the victim. Whatever you want them to do, they  _do_ , that's how strong it is."

His features pinched in a soured expression. "Tell me he didn't . . . ."

"He cast an Unforgivable on me," she whispered, shaking her head as a tear broke free to roll down her cheek. "He tried to  _force_  me to lead them to my  _best_ friend."

"How did you stop it?"

A smirk curved one corner of her mouth. "I didn't. But I didn't know where Harry was. I hadn't the foggiest—we'd thought it was safer for both of us that way. So when Draco commanded me to lead him to Harry, I couldn't go anywhere, because I didn't know where _to_  go. I just laughed at him. I was  _so_  hurt and angry, but sort of relieved that I couldn't be forced into betraying Harry."

"I'm so sorry."

"I was dragged out of the tent by Draco's mad aunt. She's the one who made sure the Voldemort's curse marked me. The letters on my shoulder?" She pulled up the short sleeve of her shirt, baring the jagged, ugly lines on her left shoulder. "They don't stand for Muggle-born. They stand for  _Mudblood_. It's about the most hurtful label in the whole of the Wizarding world, suggesting  _anyone_  not of direct magical lineage has dirty, unworthy blood."

Examining the branded letters a moment, he dipped his head—taking a risk, he knew—and brushed his lips in a gentle kiss over the jagged skin.

Her head fell forward a little and she smiled, in spite of her story. "And I was promptly tossed into a cage to await my execution. Six months I was imprisoned. Every day Draco visited. He tried to apologize, tried to ask my forgiveness. I should've known he'd done what he could to help me escape the day he told me he knew he couldn't expect me to ever forgive him.

"The last I saw him, they were carting him off to a Wizard prison. And it was my testimony that put him there, but my testimony, as well, that kept him from execution."

"So, when you said he's rotting . . . ."

"I absolutely meant it," she said with a nod. "I understood he  _was_  trying to protect me, on a logical, pragmatic level. But to have me survive only to live in a world where my best friend was dead? Where everyone else like me had been hunted down and murdered?  _He_  didn't understand I couldn't have had any kind of life in a world like that."

* * *

Loki couldn't help himself.

He watched his witch alone in her cage. How brave she was, refusing to show them her tears, or to amuse them with her rage. She always waited until it was dark, until she knew the other occupants of her prison were asleep in the floors below, and then loosed her emotions in the privacy of her own filthy little cell.

He was so angry with the figures in her memories that he could barely see straight, himself.

Nearly before he realized, he'd slipped into her memory.

There she was before him. Curled on her side on the floor of her cage, pretending the tears of anger and sadness and frustration she'd just unleashed hadn't happened.

He reached out, placing a soothing hand on her back.

The witch jumped. Turning over, she scooted from his reach before she even saw him.

* * *

Hermione gave a start in Bucky's loose embrace.

Startled, himself, he watched her expression cautiously. The confusion in her eyes was not comforting in the least. "Hermione? What—?"

"Loki," was all she said in answer.

Snapping his head up to look around—as though the walls were made of glass—he asked, "Loki?  _Here_? But I didn't feel anything."

"No, no." She shook her head, grasping Bucky's right hand between both of her own. Her gaze roamed, eyelids fluttering in rapid blinks as she tried to understand what was happening.

A thousand times she must've gone over the memories of her time in that bloody cell. A thousand times, there'd never been a single thing different, or out of place.

But  _this_  time . . . .

"It's like he's in my head."

"Right now?"

Hermione nodded. "I think so . . . he's in that memory, but I  _know_  I never met him before the other day. So, this _has_  to be happening now,  _as_  I'm recalling what happened."

Bucky was equal parts fascinated and mortified. "What's he doing?"

Her shoulders slumped, her tone mystified as she said. "He's comforting me."

* * *

"Who are you? How'd you get in here?" Her alarmed chestnut eyes were darting about the cage. He was sitting before her, yet she'd never heard a footfall in the corridor outside, nor the bolt sliding out of place. Not the creaking of the door to admit him, yet here he was.

A broad grin split the handsome man's pale face. His green eyes twinkled a bit in the moonlight through her dismal little window as he said, "My name is not important just now, as we will not meet for a while, yet. And I got in, well . . . . It's a bit difficult to explain."

The witch shifted a bit closer to him. How long had it been since anyone—save Draco, whom she  _never_  wanted to see, again, anyway—had shown her the tiniest hint of kindness? Since anyone had tried to comfort her?

"What are you doing here?"

"I know what happened to you, Hermione." He reached out, pleased that she didn't shy away as he tucked a wayward lock of her wild hair behind her ear with gentle fingertips. "I could not help the intrusion. I was raised on a pack of lies, hand-fed to me daily by those I was told loved me most in the universe."

She frowned, shaking her head. "That's horrible."

"To worsen matters, when I lashed out and tried to make the lies into reality,  _I_ , alone, was vilified." He shrugged, offering a proud smirk that she found quite odd, given the topic of discussion. "All right, perhaps I went a  _bit_  above and beyond, _but_ those who created that villain  _never_  claimed responsibility. I am afraid that has given me a  _bit_  of a sore spot when it comes to betrayal."

"So," she said, managing a small laugh as she shook her head. "We're just two betrayed fools, sitting in a dank little cell, together?"

He chuckled. "That we are, but not  _together_  for long. I will not be able to linger here."

"I don't understand."

Loki cupped her cheek, and she found herself once more warmed by the comfort shown her by this stranger. "Think of me as a ghost among your memories."

"I still don't—"

He leaned close, covering her lips with his own. It was chaste, brief, only the gentlest press of his mouth, before he pulled back, his forehead leaned against hers, and his eyes closed.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

"What?" She tried to sit up, to pull way at the unexpected question, but he slid an arm around her, holding her to him.

"The one who betrayed you? I  _am_  in the middle of something quite complicated, but if you ask it, I will delay the matter to seek him out and end his life for you."

A small laugh rumbled out of her, a tired, resigned sound as she cupped his jaw with her hands. "No. He knows how bad he's hurt me, and that knowledge is making him miserable. I want him to live with what he's done for a  _very_  long time."

Loki smirked, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "Very well. Perhaps then I should prolong his miserable existence for you."

Before she realized, she found herself drifting off. Her emotional outburst before this mysterious man had popped up, the utter strangeness of his very presence here, and how very late at night it was, seemed to all converge on her at once.

Shifting forward a bit, in the arms of this man she didn't even know, she placed her head on his shoulder and let sleep take her.

* * *

"And then?"

Hermione frowned, fighting a yawn in the present as she shook her head. "That's it. The next thing I  _remember_  is waking the next morning, alone. He's . . . he's gone."

He didn't like what he was hearing, but there didn't appear much either of them could do about this latest bit of weirdness, at the moment. "Seems clear he wasn't trying to hurt you. Though, whatever he  _was_ trying to do, I couldn't tell you."

She shrugged, the movement lethargic and heavy. "Maybe build a rapport, or lull me into a false sense of security? He does want my help with something, after all."

Bucky nodded. Shifting across the length of the bed to lean against the wall running alongside it, he pulled her with him. Though, when her cheek hit his chest, she lifted her tired gaze to his in question.

"You've had a rough couple of days and not much sleep," he explained curling his arms around her. "You're going to close your eyes, right now, and sleep."

Her brow furrowed, but she was too busy fighting another yawn to argue. "Is that an order?"

He chuckled, his own brows pinching together. " _Yeah_ , that's an order."

"Well, then," she said, shifting a bit to snuggle closer to him. Nuzzling her cheek against his chest, she closed her eyes. "Yes, sir."

He snorted a laugh. "I don't hate the sound of that."

Hermione turned her head, drawing a little, surprised gasp out of him as she bit at his chest through the fabric of his shirt. Ignoring the sound of shock, and the way it caused his arms to tighten around her, she murmured, "Just go to sleep, Bucky Barnes."

* * *

Loki snapped awake against that bloody tree in the bloody astral plane. Pressing a hand to his forehead, he allowed himself to frown.

He really shouldn't have done that, he was well aware. However, he thought, his head tipping side to side as he sat up a bit straighter and stretched, the solace he'd offered her could only work to his advantage.

But he knew, he considered as he stood and started for the next tear back into the physical plane, he could  _not_  get lost like that, again.

_Their_ Midgardian oaf, Bucky _,_ was a stubborn creature. If Loki was to sway that one to his side, as well, he would have to have  _all_ his faculties about him when he did so.

_Oh, yes._ The next step in _that_  particular part of his plan  _would_  be work, but he couldn't deny that it would also be  _fun._


	12. Sweet Denial

**Chapter Twelve**

Sweet Denial

_Bucky could feel the pull in his shoulders, even before he opened his eyes. He recognized the uncomfortable sensation immediately, thanks to the last damn time he found himself like this—or_ imagined _he'd found himself like this, stupid dream._

_As he braced himself to open his eyes and look around at whatever dismal environment his subconscious was offering up, he heard it. Moaning, delicate and feminine, and . . . familiar?_

_Oh, yeah; he'd heard this voice before, only never like_ this _._

_It made him not really want to open his eyes, but at the same time, also_ insanely _curious._

_Forcing a breath, he finally looked. From his place, restrained by those stupid chains, he could see the bed—it was right goddamn in front of him—large, surrounded by golden curtains, sheer and shimmering. They were held back, pinned to the bedposts on only this side, for_  his _benefit he would've assumed, if he could focus enough to think clearly in that moment._

_Hermione lay sprawled on her back, her wild hair loose around her and not a stitch of clothing on her body. Bucky recognized the head of jet-black hair moving lower against her, despite that he wished he could very much ignore that he_ knew _who that was._

_Loki . . . ._

_The Asgardian was just as bare as the witch beneath him—he either was unaware of their audience, or didn't mind it. He slid his skin against hers, slipping off the bed to brace his knees against the floor. Loki buried his face between her thighs, a growl-like sound rumbling out of him at the way she cried out, her delicate fingers curling in his hair._

_Bucky vehemently ignored his body's reaction to the show before him. "Hermione," he said in a rushed whisper, almost as though he imagined the other male in the room somehow wouldn't hear him._

_"You're awake." Her voice was oddly light and airy as she made the observation, even as she rocked her hips beneath Loki's mouth._

_Loki, for his part, made how thoroughly he was enjoying himself_ abundantly _clear—the sounds he made, suckling and lapping at her, deliberately loud. He slid one hand down, his fingers circling his cock to stroke himself idly._

_Bucky couldn't seem to close his eyes to block out what he was seeing._ Why _couldn't force his eyes to close?_

_"We were worried you'd sleep through everything," she said, still in that light tone, even as her breathing hitched and her body tensed._

_He couldn't think of what to say in response. She_  wanted _him to see this?_

_Her hands tightening in Loki's hair, she threw her head back, a pleading moan tearing out of her as she came. Loki let out a chuckling sound from deep in the back of his throat, his head moving against her ever more vigorously, nursing her through her orgasm._

_Bucky found he had to remind himself to breathe. "This . . . ? Why are you making me watch this?" he asked, his resigned whisper barely audible._

_It seemed Loki ignored him, at least until Hermione relaxed beneath him, withdrawing her hands from his head. He brushed quick kisses against her hips and the insides of her thighs before he stood, turning to face the bound man._

_"You are not likely to believe this," Loki said, that wicked grin on his lips as he stepped toward Bucky. "But I am merely a pawn in this particular imagining."_

Imagining?  _Oh, fuck! Suddenly everything snapped into focus, and Bucky understood. This was a dream. Another odd, twisted dream, and_ again _, Loki was to blame!_

_"You're right. I_ don't  _believe that." As he spoke, he pulled at the chains. Bucky was trying to ignore that the man moving ever closer to him was both very naked, and very hard. Not an easy thing when he was hard, himself—that had_  only _to do with the witch he'd just seen writhing on the bed, he was sure._

_"Oh, but I assure you, it_ is  _true." Loki busied himself with opening Bucky's jeans._

_Bucky tried to tell himself he didn't attempt to shake the other man's hands away because his restraints would make it a wasted effort. Hermione was still on the bed, pulling herself to stand as she watched them, her movements lazy and languid._

_He lifted his gaze to hers as she started toward them._

_"It's not mine, either," she said, adorable and bashful-looking as she blushed and bit her bottom lip, despite what he'd just seen of her._

_Bucky forced a gulp. He didn't want to think on what they were suggesting, but he couldn't help himself. "Then . . . then who's—?"_

_"Yours," Loki said with a smirk, sinking his fingers into the hair at the back of Bucky's neck as the darker-haired man brought his mouth crashing down._

_Bucky froze for a moment . . . only to find himself returning the kiss. Hungry, and even a little savage, he thrust his tongue between Loki's lips, stroking and caressing—tasting Hermione in the other man's mouth._

_He felt Hermione against him, then. In sweet, jarring contrast to the brutal kiss, she brushed gentle lips along his collar bone and down his chest. As she moved lower, pushing his jeans down his legs and freeing him, completely, he was aware of Loki's fingers slipping around him._

_And Bucky wasn't sure he cared whose hands were whose, anymore._

_She licked and nibbled along his abdomen, feathered her lips across the hollow of his hips, finally settling on her knees before him. At the dusting of dark hair that trailed down from below his navel, she kissed and nipped._

_Bucky tore his lips from Loki's, catching his breath as he lowered his gaze to watch her. Loki used his fingers around Bucky's cock to lift him to her waiting lips._

_There was something delightfully wicked in the cute little rumbling sound of satisfaction she made as she playfully licked and nibbled at the head before slipping her mouth around him. Loki's fingers slid away, replaced by Hermione's smaller hand, working the length of him in time with her mouth._

_His head fell back and his eyes drifted closed, he almost didn't notice the absence as Loki moved away from him._

_Until Hermione shuddered, an ecstatic whimper sounding from the back of her throat._

_He couldn't help himself from looking down, once more._

_Loki was seated behind her, the witch straddling his lap. Elegant, long-fingered hands clamped over her hips, he moved her to rock back and forth over him._ _There was no misunderstanding the way his pelvis jerked, pumping against her motions._

_Bucky gave in, again, letting his head fall back, as before. His body's response was too overwhelming, his hips rocking of their own volition, thrusting harder and faster into Hermione's hand and between her lips._

_She trembled, shuddering again as she moved. She slipped her fingers from him, placing her hands on his thighs to steady herself._

_Only too happy to assist, Loki gripped a fist into the hair at the back of her head. He attempted to guide her motions as she continued working her mouth over Bucky in long, sucking pulls, but she proved reluctant._

_The jet-haired man_  tsk'ed _, uttering a breathless chuckle as he shook his head. "He is going to need it faster than that, now, my sweet little witch."_

_Relenting, she allowed him to push her into quicker motions._

_Bucky gasped, a fine tremor coursing through his muscles as his body tensed. The rocking of his hips became rushed, erratic._

_"Keep going," Loki urged her, finding himself in a quite a similar state beneath her._

_Hermione was a bit surprised at a sudden realization—despite how it seemed, they were both so vulnerable right now. They were giving her_ all _the power, and they were doing so happily._

_She tilted her head in Loki's grasp, drawing on Bucky faster, still. Shifting in Loki's lap, she worked herself over him harder, grinding against his jerking, helpless thrusts._

_Bucky uttered a pained groan as he rocked forward in one last, hard motion. She accommodated him, slowing just a little, working her mouth over his length as he came._

_Barely moments later, Loki stilled beneath her, shuddering. His fingers gripped so tight she thought he might bruise her as he pulled and pushed at her, keeping her moving over him as spent himself._

_She pulled back, allowing Bucky to slip from between her lips just as Loki's hands on her hips eased her to a halt._

_Loki carefully withdrew from her, but kept her in his lap. His slipped his hands between her thighs, stroking and teasing. She was so warm and wet against his exploring fingers that it wasn't long before he had her moaning and trembling._

_"There we are, my sweet one," Loki murmured in her ear as she came._

_Bucky's chains vanished in that moment, the unexpectedness of it causing him to fall to his knees before them._

_"I really hate those fucking chains," he said in a miserable whisper. He oddly didn't hate a thing about what just happened, but being restrained like that . . . ._

_Loki chuckled as he allowed the witch to cuddle in his lap, even as she reached for Bucky's hands to simply hold them in her own. "Have you not realized? It is not about the chains, Bucky."_

_The Midgardian watched her as she looked from one of them to the other, and back. Her gaze seemed to examine each of their features, in turn, as they spoke._

_"Oh?" Despite the odd circumstances—the three of them sitting there, naked and still catching their breath—Bucky couldn't help asking. "What's it about, then?"_

_Loki's expression shifted in a way the other man had not expected to see. He was confused by Bucky's lack of comprehension. "Trust."_

_"What?"_

_"You have grown accustomed to trusting no one. Not_ entirely. _" Loki shook his head, shrugging gingerly, so as not to jostle the tired witch in his arms. "I saw in your head that day. In your dream, you kept wishing your friend would return for you—so strongly that your own helplessness terrified you. You locked the memory of that feeling away, so that you are not even aware of it._

_"Even the ones you trust your life with, you would_ never _trust your heart to," Loki concluded, his expression carefully blank, now. "You want someone you trust so completely, you do not fear to relinquish control.'_

_Bucky's eyebrows shot up and he barked out a surprised laugh. "I don't trust you, Loki, not by_ any _stretch of the imagination."_

_Chuckling, Loki again shook his head. "Not_ me _, you fool. Her."_

_Meeting Hermione's half-asleep gaze, Bucky couldn't help a small smile._

_"You believe she is someone you can trust the way you trust no other." Loki's face turned thoughtful, his tone taking on a distracted edge as he said, "As, I suppose,_ I  _believe, as well."_

* * *

Loki jerked upright, darting his startled gaze about the astral realm. He had not recalled falling asleep. He hadn't even recalled pausing in his hurried pace through the ether.

"That was not  _my_ doing," he said, the words spilling from his lips in troubled whisper. "Interesting."

Yet, he didn't find it interesting, at all—he only said such to ease his own apprehension. He was certain he  _might_ , were it not so terrifying to think he'd just been pulled into one of their dreams, quite without his awareness.

As had their witch.

And he'd  _babbled_. . . about  _trust_! First opening to the witch about betrayal, and now  _this_?

What were these Midgardians  _doing_  to him?

Holding in an angry breath, he climbed to his feet. He pulled the orb from its pouch and rolled it between his palms for a few moments.

Finally holding it eye-level, he spoke in a lethal whisper, his thoughts on the golden room. "I do hope this is worth it."

* * *

Hermione and Bucky bolted awake at the same moment. Meeting one another's shocked gazes, his jaw dropped as she clamped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh, oh,  _no_ ," he said, his head shaking. "Did . . . did we both just . . . ?"

Her brows drew together as she let her hands slip from her mouth. "Loki?" she said wincing.

Bucky nodded.

"And it ended with a talk about chains and trust?"

His entire face pinched in a pained expression as he nodded, again.

"Oh, dear  _God!_ "

He buried his face in his hands and he let out a groan, before raking his fingers through his hair.

Despite the wash of red in her cheeks—what with that dream still fresh in her mind—she felt she had to ask, "Do you think Loki was telling the truth?"

A little chuckle bubbled out of him at her question. Loki and truth weren't words that went together very often, from what he knew of the man. Even so, he lowered his eyes, unable to hold her gaze as he nodded, his lips pursed. "Actually, yeah."

Hermione's brows shot up. "Oh." Well,  _that_  was certainly news, but Loki _was_  a sneaky one. She was ignoring that his intrusion in her memories had taken a bit of the edge off her distrust of him. Stupid gestures of comfort. "How can you be sure?"

"The chains," he said, his bottom lip poking outward in that almost-pout she was really starting to adore. "I think it's about more than  _just_  trust."

Unable to help herself, she reached out, smoothing the pad of her thumb across his lip. "So what more?"

He held up his left hand, flexing his metal fingers in example. 'I think . . . ." He sighed and shook his head, at last returning her gaze to his. "I think I'm afraid that if something doesn't hold me back, I could hurt you."

Frowning, she reached out, grasping his left hand between both of her own. "I understand. But, don't you get it, yet?"

Confusion clouded his expression.

Her frown softened into a half-smile. "I trust you, too, Bucky Barnes."

He couldn't help smiling back as he pulled her into his lap, slipping his arms around her to hug her tight.

"There's more going on with this Loki thing, isn't there?" she asked, unable to put what she was really asking into words, but sensing he understood her meaning, all the same.

"I think so, but . . . ." He shrugged, dropping a kiss against the top of her head. "We know we can't trust him. We still don't know what he's really trying to do."

"What do we tell the others about all this? Won't it be important for them to know we've been, um, _communicating_  with Loki in our dreams?"

Bucky chuckled—that was a delicate way of putting it. "We tell them as much as we can without embarrassing ourselves."

Hermione nodded, almost afraid to close her eyes, even as she felt sleepiness drifting back over her, now that the initial shock of waking from that dream was subsiding. "Good. Sounds like a plan."

They both ignored that they questioned if this little plan, more than keeping them from embarrassing themselves, was some odd, detached way to protect Loki. Worse, they were each somehow aware the other was wondering the same thing.


	13. Koblet Tre

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Koblet Tre_

"Okay, wait, time out," Tony said, holding up his hands as he shook his head.

The morning after Hermione and Bucky's most recent dream-time visit with Loki, they sat with the Avengers in a space that was homey . . . . Kitchen and dining area on an open floor plan, which for some strange reason, had a conference table smack in the middle of it.

Folding her hands before on the table, Hermione forced a tightlipped grin as she turned her attention on the filthy-rich tech genius. Bucky sat in the chair beside hers, but had spent the entire conversation turned toward her, his posture curved, protectively, around her. She was painfully aware that their proximity, and his demeanor, had not gone unnoticed by  _anyone._

She'd explained everything to the best of her recollection—and Hermione had the best memory of anyone she knew. Well, everything with the exception of the dreams . . . she'd carefully tailored those to exclude the steamy portions, leaving in only the bits that she and Bucky had, collectively, deemed important.

The orb, the room, Loki's insistence that Hermione was some sort of key. Personal feelings and dreamed physical interactions beyond the simplest of touches did not have  _any_  bearing on whatever was really transpiring, they'd decided.

She'd explained clearly and succinctly, maintaining a picture of perfect calm. She supposed they did make an odd pair—the gruff, experimental super-soldier and the delicate-seeming, lost little witch—but everyone seemed to accept whatever their dynamic was at face value . . . .

Everyone except Tony Stark, of course.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?" Hermione asked, allowing a hint of exasperation to edge her voice. She knew Tony had perfectly valid reasons for not liking or trusting Bucky, but the issue they faced had nothing to do with that.

Not that she didn't appreciate that Tony wasn't currently trying to kill Bucky, but she did sort of wish he'd get a little perspective and shelve it until they were clear of whatever Loki was plotting.

"I told you, it's Tony. But, seriously—you and him? I just don't get it. You know you could do better, right?"

The rest of the team exploded into awkward fidgeting and exasperated movements. Nat hissed Tony's name in a whisper as she shook her head, and Steve squared his jaw, clearly preparing to say something.

Hermione offered Steve a placating look, which he—thankfully—understood, before returning her attention back to Tony. "We're not going to get anywhere until this is discussed, are we?"

A thoughtful frown tugging at his lips, Tony shook his head.

Sighing, she said, "Whatever exists between Bucky and me is hardly your concern, and has nothing to do with this. Good enough? Now, can we please focus?"

"You seem like a nice girl . . . witch . . . reasonably sane person, who's already been through a lot of shit." Tony cast a deliberate, sidelong glance at Steve as he cursed. "I'm just trying to look out for you, here. Do you even _know_  the things he's done?"

Some of the harshness drained from Hermione's expression. She glanced at Bucky—he'd averted his gaze, swallowing hard as his bottom lip stuck out.

"Some, but not all," she said, nodding.

Tony's brows shot up. "I'm sorry, did you just say  _some_? How can you—?"

"I know all I need to know, because he was not in control of what he did. That probably sounds like a cop-out to you, despite that you're all perfectly aware of his circumstances." Frowning, the witch shook her head. She dropped one hand from the table, to tangle her fingers with Bucky's. "But you're forgetting that any one of you in his place wouldn't have had the ability to do  _any_  differently."

Tony gritted his teeth, frustrated that she wouldn't see reason—reason being _his_  side of things. "He's a murder."

Shaking her head once more, she sat back, her gaze steely as her eyes held his. "No, he's not. He's killed people, I'll grant you that, as has  _every_ person sitting in this room. Do you really want to take a tally on body counts, Mr. Stark? The murderers are the people who turned him into a weapon, try blaming them."

Tony glanced at Steve—he and Nat being the only people more versed on Bucky's background than Tony, himself. Steve shook his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. And Tony knew Steve was correct—he should let this go, move on. There were no answers in this that were completely right, or completely wrong.

But Tony just couldn't wrap his head around it. He was losing the argument, even as he recognized that there hadn't needed to be an argument in the first place. They were all on the same side, didn't mean they had to agree on any damned thing else.

"Fine, just . . . just tell me how it is that you can be okay with knowing the blood that's on his hands, weapon _or_  murderer?" When she rolled her eyes, he shook his head, keeping his voice as neutral as he could manage. "No, really. Help me understand this."

Shifting her gaze to Bucky's, she found those now-so-familiar blue eyes already on hers. There was both strength and comfort there, somehow. The time that had passed between the first moment she'd seen his face and now felt more like years than days.

He swallowed again as he nodded, trying to remind her that as bristly and petulant as Tony could sometimes be, she could trust these people.

With a sigh, Hermione gave a nod of her own and relayed to them the story of Draco's attempted Imperius Curse. The news that the man she'd loved had tried to control her mind—and might've succeeded, if not for extenuating circumstances—seemed all the convincing any of them needed to back off about her relationship with Bucky.

All the while, Thor had been sitting at the far end of the table, watching the girl and weighing all she'd told them of her interactions with his brother—of the troubling artifact he carried. Rising from his chair, he rounded the table to stand beside her.

Her gaze leapt up to meet his, but he couldn't help noticing that she did break eye-contact just long enough to give him a once-over. "This room he showed you, were you able to discern anything about its purpose?"

She shook her head. "But I might be able to recognize the type of writing that was on the walls if I saw it, again." Hermione couldn't help herself as her eyes roved over him a second time. "Bucky told me, and here I am, dealing with your brother Loki, but I still . . . . So you're really Thor?  _The_  Thor?"

The Asgardian cracked a grin, even with the serious subject matter. "In fact, I am."

"Rather impressive, you are."

Bucky rolled his eyes, his head shaking—he was pretty sure a second Asgardian did not need find his way into their already unusual dynamic. But Thor's grin broadened at her compliment.

"I think I rather like you," Thor said in his most charming voice.

Natasha snickered from across the table. "Don't you already have your hands full with Darcy and Jane?"

Hermione bit her lip on a giggle, knowing, already where this was going, but needing to ask—and recognizing that they could all use a break in tension. "Darcy and Jane?"

Clint, seated on Natasha's other side, seemed to rouse from a nap, only long enough to answer. "His girlfriend _s_ , plural."

The witch nodded. "Keeping up with him, they're probably grateful to be able to trade off."

Those who weren't shocked by her words burst out laughing.

Tony gaped at her. "Seriously? When _I_  bring home two girls, everyone calls me a pig."

Sam, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet—though, he admittedly tried to stay out of anything to do with Asgardians, as he didn't do the whole  _god-thing_ —piped up, "Yeah, when's the last time it was only two?"

"Okay." Hermione nodded, then gestured to the tall blond man standing beside her chair with both hands. "But . . . god, hullo? I'm more surprised he's  _only_ got two."

Thor beamed at her. "I  _do_  rather like you."

"All right, okay," Steve said, despite the chuckle in his voice. He'd recognized the need for levity as much as the rest of them, but they had to get back on track . . . and poor Bucky looked about ready to crawl under the table. He wondered for a moment what that was about, as Bucky didn't get embarrassed easily.

Making a mental note to pull his friend aside later, Steve continued, "Does this room sound like anything you've heard of before?"

Frowning, Thor shook his head. "No. But I believe we may be able to learn more about this orb my brother has in his possession. I have heard of such items before—locator stones. However . . . ."

Hermione's brows shot up, looking about the table to find the others mirrored her expression at the way his words trailed off.

Leaning down, the Asgardian braced his palms on the table and met her gaze, once more. "The species who created the locator stones is long-dead, their home world abandoned."

Shoulders slumping, Hermione frowned. "Which means what? Have we hit a dead end?"

Thor shook his head. "Not necessarily. We would have to go to that world and learn what we can from what was left behind."

" _We?"_  she echoed.

His brow furrowed, as though he didn't understand her questioning of the idea. "Of course. You are the one who knows what we are looking for, and I would assume your magics would be necessary to divine if my brother had, in fact, retrieved the stone from there, or if we need look elsewhere for answers."

"I . . . wait, um . . . ." Hermione alternated between shaking her head and nodding as she searched for how to word what she was sure she was hearing. " _I'm_ going to go poke about alien ruins, is what you're telling me?"

Thor nodded.

If Bucky didn't know any better, he'd swear the girl was about to jump on the Asgardian and hug him to death. Popping out of own seat, he scooped up Hermione around her waist and started walking from the table.

"Just need to borrow her a sec," he called over his shoulder, easily ignoring the kicking witch he held pinned to his side.

Steve watched the pair disappear around a corner, his mouth twitching side to side as he gave a mystified shake of his head.

Nat reached over to him, covering his hand with her own. "What is it?"

Biting hard into his bottom lip as he thought, Steve once more shook his head. "I don't know. Buck's acting weird."

Sam scoffed, a chuckle edging his words, "How can you tell?"

* * *

Loki frowned, staring at the orb. Ever since he'd woken a handful of hours earlier, he'd been trying to understand what the bloody thing was doing to him. Connecting him to those two . . . . Fostering feelings . . . .

Making him wish for things he knew he could not have—not if he was successful in using that room the way he intended.

After all his work, his planning, he could not, for the life of him, understand why the orb would lead him to the room _and_ nurture a connection that could jeopardize the entire thing. Not that the dalliance wasn't fun, but that was all it ever could be.

With a frown, he sat down heavily from his frustrated pacing, raking long, pale fingers through his jet hair. If he couldn't unlock that room's secrets, then his struggles had been all for naught.

Hermione was important for  _that_  reason, not for any silly, trivial matter of the heart— _or_ loins, for that matter.

And Bucky? Loki's shoulders slumped at a sudden burst of impatience with himself. Bucky was not even supposed to be part of the equation . . . Loki was supposed to have driven him away, or twisted the man around his finger, but now.

That he had no idea what was transpiring between the three of them was all the more reason for him to be unsettled. He was supposed to be furthering his plans . . . supposed to be a handful of steps closer to unlocking the formula on that room's walls.

But the very thing that should aid him in that was hindering him.

He knew they were with his brother, now. He knew he would need to stay hidden for the time being.

But close . . . he needed to keep account of Hermione, after all.

With a rumbling, unhappy sigh, he rolled the orb between his palms. "What are you doing to me?" he asked the glass sphere.

It was a stupid question, he was doing this to himself. Perhaps one of his mother Frigga's  _I Told You So's_  was coming to pass. She'd always warned that he kept himself too guarded—that one day, a need for companionship he didn't believe himself to have would rear its head, and would it would be a thing beyond his control.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, his narrow and perfect nostrils flared as he furrowed his brow.  _Mother_.

Against his own better judgement, he wondered just what she would say to this situation he found himself in with these two Midgardians. Oh, that was right— _I told you so_.

He was too distracted to notice the orb flicker to life until it was flashing in his hands.

Frowning, Loki drudged himself out of his melancholic thoughts and turned his attention to the artifact. "What _are_ you showing me, this time?"

Within the swirling lights, he could make out features . . . shifting, changing . . . . His face . . . Hermione's . . . Bucky's, and back again.

Then, all at once the dizzying play of colors within the orb stilled, a triangle of etched gold hovering within its depths, more distinct than any image it displayed before. At each corner a flaring spark, each the color that corresponded to shifting features.

Loki swallowed hard, trying to understand as he stared at their faces, connected to his by the triangle.

" _Koblet tre_?"

* * *

"What was that about?" Hermione demanded in a hissing whisper as Bucky set her down on her feet.

"You need to slow down a minute and think about what we're agreeing to, here," he said, meeting her gaze as he frowned.

She mirrored his expression, her shoulders drooping. "Look, I know there's something weird going on between us and Loki—"

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm worried about." Bucky sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "Loki is clever. Maybe the cleverest bastard anyone in that room has ever dealt with. What if, just what _if_ , this world where we might find answers is exactly where he wants you to go?"

Suddenly, Hermione's happy, fluffy dream of exploring some bizarre, exotic world burst. "I hadn't thought of that. I can't believe _I_  hadn't thought of that."

"And even if that's not the case, what if he follows us there, and something goes  _wrong_  because of it?"

"He _did_  follow us all over Upstate New York." Shaking her head, she let out a weighted sigh. "I understand, but it's a chance we  _have_  to take. It's not like he's going to tell us what he's up to, and we can't sit around and wait for whatever his next move is."

They both fell quiet, but after a moment, Bucky asked, "What?", as though she'd made some thoughtful noise aloud.

Hermione shook her head once more. "It's bizarre, given everything this week has thrown at us—that's it, not even a full week, at that—but I can't shake this feeling that I  _want_ to trust him. Even though I know we  _can't_."

Nodding, Bucky slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, hugging her. "Me, too."

They both started, then. Meeting each other's gazes with puzzled expressions at the words floating through their heads. At the same instant, they said, " _Koblet tre_?"

She frowned, a feeling of cold blooming in the pit of her stomach. "What does that mean?"

"It's Norwegian, it means 'connected three.'"

Despite the circumstance, she couldn't help but be impressed. "You speak Norwegian?"

He shrugged, far less impressed with _himself_. "I speak a lot of languages, comes with the programming. But it doesn't make any sense on its own; maybe it's part of a larger phrase? Does it mean anything to you?" Maybe the term had some magical significance?

Hermione gave a confused pout as she shook her head. "Nothing I've ever heard of."

Clint poked his head around the corner, just then. "Yeah, uh, sorry to interrupt, but if we're going to be tripping off-planet again, we gotta start prepping now."

The pair nodded, trailing behind Clint as he lead the way back to the rest of the team, each of them turning the words  _connected three_ over and over in their heads.

The one thing clear to them, both, was that the only possible source for those words was Loki.


	14. I'd Stop the World

**Chapter Fourteen**

I'd Stop the World

Hermione wasn't stupid, by any means. Anyone who'd had more than a passing conversation with the witch knew that. Yet, still, she found herself surprised by what the  _prep_  Clint mentioned entailed.

But then, tripping  _off-world_  was a new concept to her, so she supposed she shouldn't be surprised, at all.

Tony and Sam opted to be the ones to stay behind and keep an eye out for any suspected Loki-related incidents. This amused Hermione, somewhat, as they didn't seem to much like one another. However, as they were clearly the least fond of Bucky, they were the logical choice to stay behind, since it had become clear rather quickly that if Hermione was going, they'd have to _stop_  Bucky from trying to follow.

And vice versa, it seemed, as they very much doubted she would hear of any plan that left him behind.

"So, now, what's this?" Hermione asked, reflexively pulling back as she eyed the silver medical device in Natasha's hand.

Natasha shrugged, even as she swept the tumble of wild hair back from Hermione's neck and tapped the device against the side of the witch's throat. "Scans of the atmosphere show that oxygen levels on Pathios are a bit different from earth. This is just little something—" She pressed a button and Hermione jumped at the stinging sensation that rang through her. "To help us maintain in that environment."

"Suppose that makes sense," Hermione said, wincing as she turned her head this way and that to ease the resulting soreness in her neck. "But, um, Pathios? Like  _pathos_?"

Sucking her teeth, Natasha nodded. "Caught that, huh?"

"I . . . I don't think I need to express why I'd be concerned about going to a planet that's name equates to sorrow."

"It is not named from a Midgardian language, so it is unlikely that the meanings are similar," Thor chimed in as he strolled through, on his way to help Bucky and Steve with transporting some necessary equipment.

The witch glanced up at him. "So what  _does_  it mean?"

He paused, mid-step, blue eyes a bit startled as he shook his head. "Oh, no one knows. The language is entirely dead."

"To be fair, none of us really know what to expect there. There's some comfort in that it's supposedly abandoned, but beyond that?" Again, the redhead shrugged. "Scans don't show any activity on the planet, but really, you never know."

Hermione bit her lip to hold in a frown. She wanted to still feel excitement about going to an alien planet, but with words like  _abandoned_ ,  _sorrow,_  and  _dead_ getting bandied about so freely, she was having a hard time of it.

In an effort to distract herself from letting that get to her, she changed the subject. "I noticed you didn't receive any lovely neck shots."

Thor shrugged his ludicrously broad shoulders and grinned. "Asgardian. The environmental differences will not affect me as they may the rest of you."

Hermione couldn't help but smirk at him. There was something infinitely lighthearted in his presence. "Oh, you're just _so_  pleased with your godliness, aren't you?"

He granted her wink and then went on his way, answering over his shoulder, "Of course I am."

"Technically, Steve and Barnes don't need it for obvious reasons, but I gave it to them, anyway, as a precaution." Natasha let it go without saying that she probably didn't need it, either. Everyone always forgot that she, too, was genetically enhanced—not _nearly_  to the same extent as the resident super-soldiers, of course—and it had always proved an advantage in the past to  _let_  people go on forgetting.

Some of the tension drained from Hermione at Natasha's assurance, the difference in her posture visibly noticeable. "Thank you for that."

Natasha gave that half-grin Hermione'd already become accustomed to, despite only knowing the woman since yesterday. "Don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you. Especially not Barnes."

Hermione averted her eyes at the sensation of warmth flooding her cheeks. As she returned her gaze to Natasha's face, she found the other woman's attention wholly diverted.

Turning to see what had the master assassin so distracted, Hermione found herself observing Steve, Bucky, and now Thor, as they toted about the aforementioned equipment—the insanely heavy aforementioned equipment—as though it weighed nothing at all.

After a moment, she forced a breath, the warmth in her cheeks returning. "They're . . . they're all rather impressive, aren't they?"

Sighing wistfully, Natasha nodded in agreement.

"You two might want to wipe the drool off your chins before anyone else notices," Clint said in a whisper, amusement edging his words as he passed them on his way to double-check that nothing crucial was left off their list.

They snickered in response, each shaking their heads. Yet, even called out for staring as she'd just been, Hermione could not seem to tear her attention from Bucky.

Somehow, she thought, he must've sensed the weight of her gaze on him, because he turned, then. His eyes locked unflinchingly on hers, and Hermione felt her heart skip.

For a few, blissful heartbeats, she could swear every sound, every movement, every flicker of existence around them stopped.  _Everything_  stilled as they stared at one another and she understood.

Just one week ago, she hadn't even known he existed, but now . . . . Now she knew there wasn't anything in the world she would not do for that man.

His teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he gave her that lopsided grin of his and—with visible reluctance—tore his gaze from hers, returning to the conversation in which Thor, Clint, and Steve were currently engaged.

Again, Natasha sighed, but this time, the sound was much louder. "Wow. You two have got it _bad_  for each other."

Hermione could do nothing but nod in agreement.

* * *

"Okay," Steve began a few minutes later, finally managing to drag Bucky into a corner away from prying ears. "So . . . what is going on with you two?"

Bucky's brows shot up. He knew this conversation was going to happen, but he still hadn't the faintest idea what to say in response. "It's a little hard to explain, we've just . . . we're really attached to each other, and there's no sane explanation for it."

Pressing his lips into a grim line, Steve gripped a hand around his friend's shoulder. Exhaling sharply through his nostrils, he squinted as he considered his words before he finally said, "You know the words 'no sane explanation for it,' is basically a sum-up of our entire lives, right?"

Snorting a chuckle, Bucky nodded. "Yeah."

Though, he didn't want to go any further, he still couldn't shake the feeling that Bucky was holding something back. "You know, if you want to talk about  _anything_ , I'm all ears, right?"

With another nod, Bucky repeated himself, some of the brightness draining from his expression. "Yeah."

Oh, if  _only_  there were some way to tell anyone about this craziness with Loki.

"That's it," Clint called, snapping shut a metal case set atop the rest of the equipment. "We're ready to roll."

Hermione nodded to no one in particular. Sure, they were going to another world with less than pleasant words attached to its mere existence, but they were—respectively—a witch, two master assassins, two super-soldiers, and a bloody thunder god. Everything would be fine.

She hoped.

* * *

Loki was already sick of the orb. He was trying so hard to maintain his focus. So, so hard to understand . . . .

If he could decipher the symbols on his own, he might not need Hermione. If he didn't need Hermione for this, perhaps the things the orb fostered  _could_ exist . . . .

But, no matter how he considered the glowing symbols, nothing came clear. He'd stormed and raged in the shielded safety of the room, the boom of his voice as he bellowed his frustrations causing the golden lines to shiver against the walls.

Emitting a growling sound from deep in the back of his throat, he wrenched himself from his trance. Snatching the orb from its pouch, he frowned at it. The damned thing had been quite noisy just now, and he wasn't even certain he wanted to know why, anymore.

Sweet Damnation, his life had been turned entirely upside down in such a short time, hadn't it? All because of this wretched little glass sphere and a pair of Midgardians.

" _What?!_ " he demanded of the accursed thing, his tone a mingling of exasperation and impatience.

The lights and colors within the orb shifted and swirled, coming together to show Hermione and Bucky. Loki ignored  _any_  response he might feel to the sight of the two of them.

As the pair carried on some hushed conversation, of which he could not make heads or tails, the background swam into focus. There was no denying the way he thought his heart would stop as he recognized the ruins before which they stood.

"Pathios?" Green eyes going wide, he shook his head. "No. They can't—"

He jumped to his feet, stalking toward the nearest tear as he loosed another demand on the artifact in his hand. "Show me a path there.  _Now!"_


	15. No Escaping You

**Chapter Fifteen**

No Escaping You

Pathios was . . . breathtaking.

Rolling hills of long-bladed bluegrass, dotted with wild flowers unlike any she'd ever seen on earth. The sky was crisp and clear, the breezes warm—the air even smelled pleasant.

Yet, all this beauty only created a strange, hollow feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She wasn't certain if that was due to the megalithic ruins in the distance, or the disparate appearance of this world to what she'd worked herself up to expect.

She could tell the others were on alert as they moved through the grass toward the towering remnants of a grey ziggurat. There was nothing overt in their movements which suggested such, but the tension zinging though the group was palpable.

Hermione was sure, she, too, had fallen prey to the paranoia bred by walking on a long-still planet. She held her wand at her side, but her fingers clung so tight to the wood, her knuckles were white.

It did not ease her apprehension that the group moved in formation—a loose almost-triangle, with her in the center. Thor, the only one with any familiarity with Pathios, limited though that was, at the lead, Natasha and Clint on either side of her, Steve and Bucky walking behind her, practically shoulder-to-shoulder.

She knew the way they clustered around her was due to Loki deciding her a necessary component in whatever he was doing, and not having the foggiest idea where he was, but that she understood the logic behind it did precious little to lessen the feeling. The impression that she was being marched  _toward_ something was difficult to ignore.

Well, aside from the fact that that  _was_  what was happening, it lent to the notion that something was  _waiting_. Not a comforting thought, by any means, when considering an environment where nothing was supposed to exist, anymore.

Where nothing was supposed to exist, anymore . . . .

Hermione gave her head a sobering shake and forced herself to keep walking. "Did the scans you mentioned show  _any_ fauna?"

The whispered question seemed to thunder out of her, disproportionately loud. None of them had realized how quiet they'd all been until the witch broke the silence.

"No, just flora," Natasha said, her voice low, as well.

Hermione tried not to let that unsettle her. After all, flora could survive on the elements, alone. Perhaps that it did not have a circle-of-life existence in the way that they knew it was the troubling thing.

Bucky had thought she was nervous when they'd first set foot here, but not until now—now, that he'd just heard that tremor, buried beneath her otherwise calm and steady voice—did he know for certain. Moving up a bit closer behind her, he reached out.

She felt the touch of his hand as it brushed hers and immediately threaded her fingers with his. Somehow, that small gesture allowed her to draw a deep, calming breath she'd simply not been able to catch, before.

* * *

Loki stepped into existence on the crumbling steps of the ziggurat. As luck would have it, the approaching group had not noticed, giving him time to slip out of sight.

Darting inside the ancient stone monstrosity, he tread carefully—light steps along the walls, turns in the corridors that had him hugging the corners—to minimize the chance of leaving footprints. To simply zip through, as he would like, would disturb the layer of dust, and he could not allow that.

He heard the rumbling, then. Faint, only detectable to him just now because he was inside the ziggurat. This was no good, he had to move faster.

Another tear to find, closer to the heart of this place.

He would duck into it and keep watch. With any luck, they would not do anything stupid that would force him to show himself.

Grumbling and shaking his head at his own foolish behavior, Loki continued along. He could reprimand himself later for going to such lengths for these two.

Dammit all, when had he become  _so_  blindingly stupid?

Oh, of course, that was right. When he tried to intercept Hermione and Bucky crashed into both their lives, resulting in tying them all together—five bloody  _days_  ago. And he knew perfectly well why there was already such a strong connection between them.

Loki refrained from slapping a palm against his forehead. So much for reprimanding himself later, it seemed he was content to multitask.

This. Was.  _Madness_.

* * *

Bucky felt a familiar jolt zip through him, and he had to force himself to keep walking. He turned his head to scan the vicinity with this gaze.  _Loki?_

He noted the way Hermione tensed again as she continued along, her fingers tightening around his. Her own head turning, she caught Bucky's eye. Afraid to say the name aloud, she lifted her brows in an eloquent expression of questioning.

He gave a subtle nod in reply, grateful that Steve was taking his own turn to monitor the area.

Still, neither was certain why they were not sharing with the others that Loki was somewhere nearby. Perhaps it was because there was no way to truly explain  _how_  they knew?

Or because, as they'd already realized they felt prone to do, they were attempting to protect him, for some entirely mindboggling reason neither of them grasped, just yet.

That was when an idea struck Hermione.

"Thor?"

The Asgardian turned his head to glance at her as he continued leading the way; they were nearly to the ziggurat, and he thought perhaps she needed to speak to ease her apprehension as the massive structure loomed ever closer.

"Yes, little witch?"

Her mouth twitched to one side and her eyes narrowed, but she refrained from pointing out that many people were  _little_  compared to him. She might've, too, if not that the presence of the two super-soldiers pulling up the rear didn't help her case.

"Have you ever heard the term  _koblet tre_?"

He stopped short, causing her heart to thump wildly in her chest. Maybe this was a mistake.

But then, he continued on. "Actually, yes, I have. Where did you come across it?"

Collecting herself—and hoping the sigh of relief she allowed to spill from between her lips was not nearly as audible as it sounded to her own ears—she managed a shrug. "I think I read it somewhere. You know, in a wizard's library. I was able to translate the words easily enough, but not find out what the term actually referred to."

"Ah." He paused, making a thoughtful sound. Though Hermione could not see it from her place behind him, she thought he might be stroking his beard. "Let me see if I can explain it correctly."

She spared a moment to look back at Bucky. He granted her an exasperated roll of his blue eyes, but she read it easily enough when he breathed out a  _phew_.

"It is a balance struck by three people."

Her brows shot up. Well, that sounded simple. "That's all?"

Thor shook his head. "Oh, no. There is more."

She glowered in silence at the time he was taking, but at least it was distracting the otherwise silent group from with the long walk. They were nearly to the first step of the ziggurat.

Still, she could not shake the feeling that their reticence and ill ease had something to do the planet, itself—that they probably were not typically this cautious and quiet on their extra-planetary excursions—but she could not put her finger on quite what gave her that sense.

Not that she could very well ask about it without being insulting, either.  _Excuse me, are you lot usually a nervous mess like this?_  Yes,  _that_  would be taken well.

"I believe there is another term that is more . . . Midgardian, but it is still not quite correct. Triumvirate."

"Triumvirate?" Hermione echoed.

Again, Thor nodded. "As I said, it is not quite a correct term, but it is close. A  _koblet tre_  comes into existence when the Universe decides that three beings are connected."

"How do you know this?"

The Asgardian shrugged. "Old tales; a koblet tre can be very rare to come across. Stories say that long ago, people would search for both beings to find their own balance, hoping they were meant for such a thing."

Her brow furrowed, she had a terrible feeling where this was going. That, and she wanted to get the rest of the explanation before they got inside the ziggurat, and they were climbing the steps, now. She had the impression that none of them would feel much like talking once there were on the other side of these walls.

"So . . . that's it? Three people connected by the Universe?"

Thor's own brows shot up as he glanced back at her. "Is that not enough? Some of the poor souls in those tales languished and died alone, because they were so consumed by their search for two other souls to complete them, rather than finding happiness any other way." He paused, mid-climb, thinking out his next words—she was a sharp creature; if she was not understanding, then he was perhaps not explaining well enough, he thought. "A person can exist for millennia feeling they are whole. Only when they find those who complete them, do they realize they are _not_. And never again will they feel whole in the absence of their other two. Connected by the Universe means exactly that."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. Even as Bucky moved up beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders to guide her to fall into step beside him, she had a little trouble getting her bearings. From the way he pulled her in so close to his side, she knew he felt it, too.

The easy trust between them, the inexplicable drive to protect one another—to protect Loki, to  _want_ to trust him, though they knew better than to let themselves. Everything that had happened over the last handful of days since they'd all met . . . .

"I do  _not_  want to think it," she said to Bucky in a murmur for his ears, alone, "but is . . . is it possible that this was all—?"

"Fate?" he whispered back, saying it before she could

She chewed her bottom lip as she nodded.

Bucky shrugged, the movement pulling just a bit tighter against him. "Fucked if I know."

They continued on in silence to the night-dark entrance, grappling with their thoughts. If what Thor said was true, they were connected to Loki . . .  _forever_  . . . .

And neither of them had the faintest clue how to feel about that.


	16. Ever Downward We Sink

**Chapter Sixteen**

Ever Downward We Sink

She was afraid.

He could feel it. Hermione was scared somewhere on the floors above his head, and Loki could feel it. He _hated_  this.

He hated that he could sense her fear this way. Strangely enough, he also hated the simple fact that she felt afraid. How terribly inconvenient that he could do nothing to assuage her fear, and hated that he could do nothing. He'd known from the moment he'd laid eyes upon her that she was a creature not unaccustomed to fear, but capable of keeping it tightly reined—so tightly, in fact, that she often didn't notice she was feeling it, covering it over with safer emotions, like anger and irritation.

Now, however, was not one of those times.

Bucky, too, he could sense. Though, their Midgardian brute was not afraid—instead, a quiet, steady anger simmered in him. A response to her fear, that anger was focused toward whatever mysterious element caused her pulse to race for such an unpleasant reason.

Were he not currently battling a nagging impression of his own that he should retrieve them both and leave this planet far behind them, he might consider this quite an interesting circumstance. In all the old tales he'd heard, he never would've dreamed a  _koblet tre_  was anything more than that—a  _story—_ let alone that it was such a powerful connection.

For pity's sake, it was enough to make him miss the simplicity of being a creature fueled by selfishness. Well, selfishness with valid reasoning, but no one ever cared to hear  _his_  side of the story. He'd wanted the throne of Asgard not simply because he wanted it, but because he did not believe Thor to have the temperament suited to be king and would lead them all to war.

Perhaps he'd gone a  _little_ overboard when he tried to take over earth in retaliation to having his plan foiled, but  _they_  were the ones who'd filled his head with notions of sitting upon the throne of a kingdom which could never be his for centuries on end. He had not spun those lies to himself.

He sighed and pushed away his agitation. This was no time to dwell on the past. He could pick at old wounds any other day, now he needed to focus.

Shaking his head at himself, Loki glanced back at the chamber doors. He sorely hoped those fools would not be stupid enough to breach them.

His shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes as he shook his head a second time. His brother was in the lead, so stupidity might well be inevitable.

* * *

Bucky's nostrils flared as he turned his head, scanning the intersecting corridors. He wanted to hit something . . .  _hard_. The way Hermione fidgeted beneath the protective curve of his arm around her shoulders only made it worse.

Her fear put him on edge . . . . And, if he didn't know any better, he could swear he felt a nagging impression in the back of his mind of irritation at his anger, her fear, and the entire, idiotic situation they were in. He had a pretty good idea he was picking that up from Loki.

God, he hoped that their keeping his presence to themselves didn't come back to bite them in the ass later. But, his luck, it probably would.

Hermione shifted a bit closer under the weight of Bucky's arm—really, any closer and she'd be inside his clothes. She nearly tripped over her own two feet at the wildly ill-timed mental images that intended-as-facetious observation brought to mind.

* * *

Loki blinked rapidly at the brush of an inappropriate thought against his mind. He could not perceive what said thought actually was, only able to determine that whatever she'd imagined had caused her skin to warm and a sweet tingling sensation to zing through her.

Scowling, he cast his gaze toward the ceiling. "Oh, do not  _dare_."

This was hardly the place for her to get distracted like this . . . . Especially when he did not have the luxury to be with them in one fashion or another.

* * *

Natasha was the first to respond to Hermione's near-stumble, grasping the witch's elbow to steady her. "You okay?"

At the question, the entire group stopped and turned toward her.

Wide-eyed at the unexpected scrutiny, she met each of their gazes, in turn, and then nodded.

Only when they all began moving again as a unit, did she notice that Bucky's attention still lingered on her face. Her still- _blushing_  face.

Biting her lip, she tried to feign and innocent expression. "What?" she asked in a barely audible whisper.

He lifted his brows in an eloquent expression in answer.

Struck by the sudden awareness that he probably got what sort of thing had flashed through her mind based on her emotions, even if he couldn't see what said thing was, she frowned. "I swear, we're  _going_ to get the hang of this at some point."

Holding in a snicker, he only gave a subtle nod. The distraction had eased her fear and lessened his agitation, so he supposed it had been a positive thing, after all.

Yet, as they fell quiet, there was no further reprieve from the narrow, dust-wreathed corridors. No buffer to dull the unsettling echoes of their footfalls against the stonework.

After another mind-numbing patch of quiet, Clint piped up, disliking the slow turning sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Is it just me, or are we moving lower?"

Thor glanced back, clear over the top of Hermione's head, to meet Steve's gaze. After some brief, silent communication, they both nodded.

Natasha frowned. "Anyone else not like that this place was built so that you can't  _tell_ you're going down?"

A ripple of panic swirled through Hermione as she forced a nod, trying to focus on the sensation of her legs moving beneath her, carrying her forward as they talked. "I think it . . . it actually might make sense, as I've had the feeling that we've been going in circles. That would be entirely possible if we're looping  _under_ where we've already walked."

"Really?" Bucky asked with a shake of his head. "So, I'm the  _only_ one concerned that we haven't come across anything _,_  yet? No breaks in the corridor, no marks, or writing, or  _anything_?"

"If this is anything like megaliths on earth, then whatever this was used for is in the heart of the building." The redhead shrugged. "Which would be where, I can only assume, we're headed."

A faint trembling shook through the structure and they all halted.

Clint looked around the confined space. "What the shit?"

"Earthquake?" Hermione offered in a hopeful tone. " _Small_ earthquake?"

Natasha reached into a pouch on her belt to retrieve a hand-held scanning device. "Doubtful," she said, her brow furrowing. "The scans we ran before we got here showed  _very_  little seismic activity in the planet's—"

A sudden groaning sound cut her off.

Without lifting her head, Natasha looked about the group. She could read it in their faces that instinct told them  _all_ to move.

The floor disappeared from beneath their feet sooner than any of them could react.


	17. Hope and Abandon

**Chapter Seventeen**

Hope and Abandon

Loki looked up at the discordant sound that rang through the ante-chamber. The ceiling parted, each piece shunting backward into hidden crevices in the walls.

"Well," he said, from the comparative safety of the astral plane, watching as the group fell to the floor before him _. "That_  was unexpected."

Hermione was too concerned with the sudden sounds of metallic whining to fret much over whether or not her bum was bruised as she pulled herself to sit up. As they collectively climbed to their feet—she and Clint the only ones needing a moment to self-assess for anything more than minor injuries, she noticed with an inward grumble—she lifted her gaze in search of the sound.

Her eyes went wide as she stared at the iron cross-work monstrosities.  _Cages_  . . . . Hanging from ancient, enormous bolts jutting from the walls.

"Oh,  _God,"_ she said, her voice so quiet she barely heard it, herself.

"It is just me," Clint started, not liking where this entire thing seemed to be headed one damn bit, "or are those—?"

"People-sized?" Natasha cut in with a nod. "I'm  _really_ hoping not, but it certainly looks like it."

Steve turned to Thor, but already the Asgardian was shaking his head. "I wish I could refute the possibility, but the stories I heard of Pathios never mentioned anything like  _this_ , at all."

"Okay, all right!" Hermione spread her hands, not able to spare the time to feel grateful over the fact that she'd not relinquished hold of her wand in the fall. "We came to find samples of the written language, or information on the locator stones."

Loki's brows shot up, a half-grin curving his lips. That's what they were doing here? Oh, these simple, precious creatures. If he'd gotten the orb from the true source, their purpose might've occurred to him, sooner.

The group scattered across the ante-chamber, scouring reliefs and etchings . . . calling the witch to them when anything that might be writing was found.

Another tremor shook the building, stronger this time, and Loki turned his gaze toward the chamber doors. "Do not  _dare,"_  he said. He'd hoped  _they_  would not breach the chamber, but it had not crossed his mind that those doors might open, unassisted.

Hermione glanced about, even as she moved on thoughtless footfalls to stand beside Bucky. "Okay, stone or no stone, I think we need to leave this place."

Natasha nodded. "She's right. I'm getting a _bad_  feeling about this."

"All right, before we decide to waste the trip," Clint said with a shake of his head—sometimes he could swear he was the only one with the ability to think on his feet.

Shoulders drooping as she watched him take pictures of the chamber walls, Natasha asked, "Really?"

"Hey, if we're gettin' out of here empty-handed, we should at least see what we came for. All done, let's go."

Already, Thor and Steve were looking up, toward the missing ceiling and the corridor ledge. "All right." Steve nodded. "Who's going first?"

Natasha stepped up, bracing a hand on his shoulder.

Hermione's jaw dropped as she watched Captain America  _throw_ his girlfriend through the air. The other woman somehow managed a tuck and roll and popped right up, appearing none the worse for wear.

She'd gladly Apparate back up there, but she wasn't certain if her magic might function differently on a world which was not earth. There had never been studies done on the effects of other planetary environments on magic.

It was a distance within eyeline, but that did not guarantee success with such an enormous unknown factor. What if she tried and she ended up with her head on backward, or something equally unsettling and horrific?

As Clint stepped up, loosing a string of whispered curses while he shook his head, the doors—the  _massive_ double doors—shook.

"No, no, no," Loki said, moving toward the tear.

"I've got her," Bucky said to Steve as Thor—hearing no arguments—grabbed Clint by his shoulders and hurled him up toward the opening. Hermione was on the verge of freaking out, witch or no witch, and if anyone was going to  _toss_  her through the air without unleashing a wave of panicked magic that would just make things worse, it  _had_  to be him. "Get your ass up there!"

Steve nodded. "You two,  _right_ behind me!"

Bucky nodded emphatically, but Hermione's gaze was glued to the ledge.  _God_ , she didn't even like going through the air on a broom!

As he and Thor backed up to get some space to jump, Nat said, "Guys? I think I know why the corridors are built this way."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach as the doors shook more violently, the other woman's prodding words shaking the thought loose. "To make it harder to escape."

Bucky grabbed her just as the doors exploded outward.

Loki made use of the distraction, popping out into the physical world for only the space of a heartbeat.

Steve and Thor vaulted toward the corridor ledge, their rushed movements forcing them to scramble to pull themselves up. The moment he got his feet under him, Steve turned . . . .

In the ante-chamber below some _thing_  stalked about, sniffing blindly at the air. Whatever it was, it didn't look quite  _right_  . . . .

A seething mass of flesh and sinew, ribbons of thick, curling darkness trailed its movements. Clawed hands grasped at nothing as it moved through the ante-chamber on thundering steps. A thing that should not be, even  _without_  the question of how it had survived when _nothing_  had been here for millennia.

But Hermione and Bucky were nowhere to be found.

Nat grabbed his arm, already aware what he was thinking. "What are you doing?" she asked in an impossibly low voice.

"They can only have gone into the room that thing came out of." Steve frowned. "I'm killing it,  _if_  I have to, but I'm getting them back."

Her shoulders drooped as she watched Steve and Thor leap right back down, engaging the creature. "Shit."

Clint snorted a chuckle as he readied himself. "Had to go and fall in love with Captain _friggin'_  America."

"Yeah, I did," Natasha said with a resigned sigh before leaping into the fray.

* * *

Hermione gave her head a clearing shake. When she got her bearings, Bucky was holding Loki by the throat and the others were . . . .

They looked like they were on the other side of a sheet of cloudy glass. On the  _very_  limited bright side, this was proof-positive that she and Bucky were not imagining their ability to sense Loki's presence.

"I don't understand," she said, swallowing hard as her gaze leaped from him to Bucky, and back. "Don't tell me you lured us here?" As strange as it was, she couldn't shake the sense that he would not knowingly put the two of them in harm's way in such a manner—the others, very likely, but not  _them_.

The flicker of displeasure across his strained face gave her the impression he was insulted by the thought, alone. "I most certainly did not."

"So then what the  _hell_ is going on?" Bucky demanded.

"What is going on," Loki said, his breathing harsh, "is that I  _saved_  you two."

Bucky just barely refrained from shaking the other man as he asked in a lethal whisper, "Where are we?"

"I pulled you into the astral plane. It was my only option."

Hermione glanced back at the group fighting the bizarre creature—in the  _physical_  world, apparently—and shook her head. This just kept getting weirder and weirder, even by  _her_  standards. "Loki, what  _is_  that thing?"

But Loki had locked eyes with their currently furious Midgardian brute. He knew he would have no hope of pulling the metallic fingers from his throat without a struggle—they were too closely matched for that.

"Bucky, release me." After a moment ticked by with no change in the pressure on his throat, whatsoever, Loki tacked on, "Please."

Bucky glanced to the battle ensuing on the other side, and then to Hermione. She nodded, her expression hopeless. This situation had gone so wrong so quickly that she actually didn't think even  _Loki_  could manage to make things any worse.

"Fine," Bucky said, growling the word as he relinquished his grip.

"Loki?  _What_  is that thing?" she asked again, pointing toward the creature, as though any indication was needed.

His green eyes drifting closed a moment, Loki shook his head. When he opened them again, he pinned their witch with his gaze as he said, "That thing is  _why_  this planet is abandoned."


	18. The Things I Do For You

**Chapter Eighteen**

The Things I Do For You

" _What_?" Hermione's voice pitched so high it cracked on that one little word. "The entire planet is abandoned because of one creature?"

Loki tipped his chin up, peering over the top her head toward the other side. The one called Steve was trying to wrest the thing to the ground while Thor seemed quite puzzled that repeated smacks from Mjolnir over the crown of the creature's skull seemed to leave it unfazed. Her own personal arsenal proving useless against it, Natasha had pulled back, observing the melee as she tried to assess a weakness.

She would be there a long time, Loki wagered, as he was not quite certain the beast had any weak points, at all. His brows pinched together for a half-second. He could certainly be wrong, of course, and would that not be a pleasant surprise?

"I do not believe now is the time for a lengthy chat, my witch, but I do apologize if I implied that that creature is the only one of its kind."

Swallowing hard, Hermione spun to face the open chamber doors, expecting another such monstrosity to barrel into view, any moment.

Shaking his head, Loki closed the distance, leaning to balance his chin atop her head as he watched the struggle in the physical plane. "Not  _here_ , of course. Time is a luxury we currently do not possess. Bucky working with those two could manage the strength to end that miserable thing's existence."

Bucky blinked a few times as he tried to make sense of that. "How durable _is_  that thing?"

It did not cross his mind until he spoke that he'd not batted an eye over Loki's possessive gesture toward Hermione, just now. He shook his head—probably that stupid  _koblet tre_ thing, he reasoned, as he was pretty sure if anyone else tried, he'd tear their head off in heartbeat.

"I cannot express this any more than I already have, there is much to explain and we do not have _time_ , now," Loki said, in an exasperated whisper. Midgardians, always wanting to chat at the most inopportune of moments. The only reason he had not whisked them away to safety was the certainty that they would never forgive him if he left their friends to die.

Sweet damnation, fate was a cruel mistress, linking him to beings who actually cared for others so easily.

"Return safely to Midgard and I promise you, I will explain all when next we dream."

Hermione had not moved out of Loki's not-quite-embrace, though, she wished the familiarity of being near him wasn't something that caused her cheeks to warm so fast. Especially not in this sort of situation. "So, Bucky helps them kill that thing, we leave, and what? We go to sleep and all just sit around and talk?"

Loki turned his head over the top of hers to look at Bucky. Their brute was puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled, his own head shaking.

"That is precisely what I am saying, yes."

She watched the conflict. Projectiles jutted from the creature's chest, and Clint appeared frustrated to note he'd just come up empty on anymore arrows. Natasha had made short work of its hamstring—or, Hermione was pretty sure where the hamstrings would be on a human—and though it moved in pained staggers, the thing was still up and struggling with Steve and Thor.

Eventually they would all tire. It would probably take a few hours, but it  _would_ happen. She did not think the same could be said for the creature. She didn't want them dying here, but she also didn't want to send Bucky out there, despite her awareness of his strengths.

But, if sending Bucky into the fray was the thing that would see to  _all_  of them leaving here alive . . . .

"Leave us the orb."

Faster than Hermione could blink, Loki had spun to stand before her. He leaned down so they were eye-level. "Pardon?"

The witch shook her head. "Look, we have a lot of questions for you, but, as you said,  _this_  is not the time. You don't need it anymore, right? You have access to that room, and you found me, when you claim I'm the necessary component in getting that room to do whatever it is it's supposed to do—"

"And it doesn't look like we'll be rid of you, any time soon," Bucky cut in, grumbling.

Loki made a scoffing sound.

Bucky fixed him with a look of disbelief. "Tell me I'm wrong."

After a moment, and a sideways nod, Loki shrugged. "There is no call to be snide about it."

"Not the time for banter! Honestly, that stupid orb is why we came here in the first place." Hermione frowned, wishing she could ask any of the other dozens of questions racing through her mind, but this situation  _had_ to take priority over her curiosity. "You want us to leave here, we will.  _But_  if they kill that creature, they'll think we're safe now and want to stay, and we'll have no way to explain to them how we know that there are more of these things about somewhere. Please, stop forcing us to make omissions."

He seemed at a genuine loss for what to do. Certainly, she was correct—he no longer needed it, and those fools would be in no hurry to leave if they thought for a moment this place was safe.

But to part with the last known locator stone? "I am not—"

"Bloody hell, Loki!" The little witch exploded, gritting her teeth, her hands curled into fists so tight her knuckles were white around her wand. It took everything in her not to hex him—again, her logic won out, what with the whole 'different planetary energy being too large of an unknown factor' thing. "We are lying for you and we're not even wholly sure  _why_! We've _endangered_  ourselves because of you! We could demand you show yourself and help take down that thing, we could threaten to out your presence here to your brother, we could demand to know what you're up to, but we're not doing any of those things! The  _least_ you can do is sacrifice that stupid locator stone for us!"

By the time Hermione drew a hissing breath and let it out slowly, she found Bucky and Loki both standing back, watching her with wide eyes.

"She is a bit impressively frightening for one of such meager stature," Loki said, his brows high on his forehead.

Bucky nodded, sucking his teeth. "Yup. I  _am_  aware."

A soured expression twisting her features, she held out her hand. "Orb, now. Or we find our way out of this plane to where they are, on our own, and  _drag_ you out with us."

Loki  _actually_ looked like he was going to argue. He cast a quick, sidelong glance at the man beside him.

Bucky shrugged. "Hey, I'm on _her_  side." He only appeared so calm, himself, because an attempt to take the relic by force would only result in a fight; all that stopped him was that they did not have that kind of time, and all three of them knew it.

Shoulder slumping, the jet-haired man scowled—and what an impressive scowl it was. Hermione had the feeling if they were any other two people in the universe, he'd have already killed them.

Then again, if they  _were_  any other two people in the universe, he probably wouldn't have troubled himself trying to save them in the first place.

"Fine." Retrieving the orb from its pouch, he held up the glass sphere, just out of her reach. "I give you the orb, you end that beast and return to Midgard  _immediately_ , yes?"

She gave a sharp nod and flexed her fingers in a  _gimme_ gesture. "Yes."

Tilting his head, Loki lowered the orb into her waiting hand. As she grabbed it, however, he slid his free hand around her wrist and pulled her close.

The kiss was brief, but _so_  hungry it left her breathless when he released her. Even before she could draw in a lungful of air, Loki grabbed a very surprised Bucky by his shirtfront and pulled him close. Loki's mouth crashed down over the other man's with just as much fire as he'd shown her.

Breaking the kiss, he said in a seething whisper, " _Safely_  to Midgard, or I drag _you_  both back from the underworld and make you pay for dying on me."

Bucky ignored Hermione's airy whisper about how she thought she could certainly stand to witness  _that_  a bit more often, as Loki took hold of both of them by the shoulder and pulled them toward the chamber doors. "What are you—?"

"Just  _go_ ," Loki said, using their surprise to his advantage as he hurled them both through the tear.


	19. Go For the Throat

**Chapter Nineteen**

Go For the Throat

Later that night, Hermione would be unable to determine if it was good luck, or bad, that the others were so preoccupied with the creature that none of them were able to notice her and Bucky tumbling into existence. Had any of them seen it, she and Bucky would've had little choice but to divulge the truth . . . no more lying by omission.

On the other hand, they'd be in the uncomfortable position of having to justify the omissions already made, and she wasn't certain there _was_  any true justification for it.

Loki had pulled them toward the chamber doors, because—as Hermione realized as she and Bucky were sent barreling through to the other side—there was a rip in the fabric between planes there. This must've been how he traveled when following them; it explained perfectly how he was able to do some of the things he had.

She would have to ask him later how he managed to _physically_  enter the astral plane. Bucky would likely huff about her having yet another question which had nothing to do with Loki's purpose. He was simply going to have to deal with it, because she needed answers, and  _soon_ , or she was relatively certain she would go mad.

All of these thoughts, of course, buzzed through Hermione's skull in the time it took for her to hurtle from the tear and hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud. Bucky was a bit disoriented, himself, but had at least managed an almost steady landing, getting his feet under him fast.

The sounds of pained breaths, fists impacting flesh, and chaotic movement buried her words to anyone but Bucky as she whispered, "I think he keeps forgetting I'm not as sturdy as the rest of you."

"Shit," he said, hissing the words as he bent to check on her. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she struggled to lift herself up on her elbows. In her right hand, she clenched her wand, still, in her left, the orb. "Don't fuss over me—I can be patched up later. Go help them."

He didn't appreciate the brush off, but he knew she was right.

"Go for its throat. You can hear it breathing," she said, ignoring a pain that radiated from her hip when she tried to move just now. Gods, if she'd broken anything, she was _so_  going to make Loki sorry. "It probably needs air like the rest of us, so its airways might be a weak point."

Turning his attention toward the open doors, he saw the miserable scene of the others struggling with that  _thing._ Ducking his head, he barreled straight for it.

Hearing the extra set of footfalls speeding toward them, Thor and Steve each looked up. They moved just in time, putting their weight into forcing the creature downward as Bucky crashed into it, colliding center mass.

They slammed into the ground, but just as quick as they impacted, Bucky grabbed the thing's arms and yanked, wrenching its shoulders down to expose as much of its throat as he could. Catching Steve's eye, he nodded toward the beast's head.

Scrambling around the thing, even as it struggled and thrashed, Steve clamped his hands around the creature's jaw and pulled in the other direction.

Whipping his head around to meet Thor's gaze, Bucky found himself grateful that no words were needed. The Asgardian was already hefting Mjolnir over his head.

"Oh, fuck," Natasha said, backpedaling in a hurry as she realized what was about to happen.

Mjolnir struck with a thick, squelching sound as it flattened the thing's throat, the impact rupturing the skin.

Later, Hermione would apologize to Bucky several dozen times for giving him an idea that got him covered in 'weird alien-monster blood and ick.'

The creature twitched and shivered, but Thor left the hammer there, the pulverized neck wedged between its impossible weight and the hard stone floor. Bucky and Steve, too, held fast until the miserable beast stopped moving, entirely.

When the struggling and twitching finally ceased, it seemed the entire ziggurat shuddered with a sigh of relief.

"Just so you know," Clint said, from his safe perch up in the corridor, "I can smell all of you from here."

Natasha shook her head, grumbling. "I'm going to kick his ass."

Bucky ignored the moment of camaraderie that followed the adrenaline draining out of the group as he got to his feet. He paused for only a moment assessing the area . . . . Loki was gone, he was positive.

Hermione had managed to struggle, painfully, to sit on her knees, but she hadn't moved after that. Now, she sat inside the chamber, her chestnut eyes wide as she looked around.

As he came to lift her to her feet, he noticed she was still examining the walls. Unable to help himself, he turned to look, as well.

"Shit," he said in a breathless whisper.

The others drifted in to see what had their attention, but it seemed no one could speak for a moment.

Thick, deep claw marks rent the stone, and they were _everywhere_. The ceiling, the inside of the doors, the floor . . . . A few pieces of tattered clothing, so old she was surprised they hadn't disintegrated, entirely, were scattered about.

Perhaps the last visitor to this place? Or the creature's caretaker? But then . . . . "No bones."

Both Bucky and Natasha tore their attention from the walls to look at the witch.

Noticing their scrutiny, she shrugged. "There's clothing, I thought a victim, but there's—there's no bones, no blood, even. No other evidence of a body, at all, only that thing."

"Are you saying you think that thing was a person?" Nat's brows had shot up into her bangs.

Hermione met the other woman's gaze. "I'm saying I don't think we  _want_  to know what the people of Pathios had been doing down here."

Frowning, the redhead looked around, again, before walking to the chamber's nearest wall and touching two fingers to the stone. "I think we need to figure out why the scans read that there was no fauna on this planet. Pretty sure alien monsters count as  _fauna_  in a strictly biological sense."

"Could it have been hibernating? Like slowed down so much that it wouldn't register?"

She nodded. "It's possible, sure. But for a couple thousand years?"

The witch shrugged. "Remind me to tell you about the thousand year old basilisk that lived in my school's basement, some time."

Bucky slipped an arm around Hermione, pulling her so tight into his side, he was practically carrying her. With the other, he slipped the orb from her hand.

"We came across this," he said, aware of Hermione's gaze snapping up to lock on his face at the omission—not that they had much choice, he knew she was simply unnerved that they were both on the same page with it, without communicating a damn word. "It's what we came for, right?"

"Actually . . . ." Thor stepped up, taking the glass sphere from him and examining it closely for a moment. "Technically yes, but I did not believe we would find any. I had thought perhaps we would find information  _about_  them, at best."

"Good, then we can go.  _Now_."

The Asgardian frowned. "There may still be—"

"Thor, please," Hermione said, wincing as she twisted in Bucky's hold to test the pain in her hip. "If that thing didn't show up in the scans because it was hibernating, then we can't know if there are more of them." Again, with the omissions, but at least it came out  _sounding_  like the result of reasoning and logical thinking.

Nodding, he conceded. "You are correct, little witch. Leaving is the only wise course of action."

Getting out of the ziggurat, injured as she was, proved to be an adventure, as, after everyone was up, Bucky took a running leap with her clutched to him like an over-sized doll. Even as he landed, just managing to stay on his feet, Hermione thought for certain her heartbeat was _never_ going to slow back down. She also did not have the luxury of complaining about the ick all over any of them. She and Clint had been ick-free, but then Bucky's closeness had seen to it that _only_  Clint escaped the mess, after all.

"So," Thor started as they made their way back through the corridors, "your school really had a basilisk in it?"

"Oh, yes." Hermione laughed at the collective looks from everyone. "And a massive three-headed dog . . . . Unicorns and centaurs in the forest outside. Oh, and the spiders! Monster-bloody-spiders!"

Natasha arched a brow. "You're kidding, right?"

Hermione looked genuinely puzzled. "Who would joke about  _that_?"

Everyone was wide-eyed . . . everyone, except Thor.

He lagged back to walk beside her and Bucky, interest sparking in his blue eyes. "Tell me  _everything_!"

* * *

Loki stared at the glowing gold lines of the symbols along the walls. Sighing, he shook his head. How many times, now? He thought he was losing track of just how often he popped in here, just how often he plastered his attention to these sigils with nothing to show for his efforts.

Frowning, he left the room and pulled himself awake.

He'd managed to find his way to the quarters Bucky and Hermione shared in Avengers tower by following the impressions of their energy left there. And now, he waited for them to return from Pathios. Oh, how he _hated_  waiting.

Honestly, the inconveniences he was willing to suffer for those two.


	20. Pathios, Remembered

**Chapter Twenty**

Pathios, Remembered

The moment they'd set foot back on earth, Hermione had slapped them all with some spell that removed the ick from them. While Bucky was grateful to be free of the goop—and the very unique smell—he wondered, with her apologetic attitude, if he should be forgiving, or maybe use the entire mess against her. He'd only tease her, of course.

Then again, that sort of thinking made him wonder how much of an influence this connection they had to Loki actually might have over them.

After seeing the weary state the group was in upon their return, Tony insisted they all get some rest. They could debrief in the morning—when they didn't all look like they could fall asleep standing up.

Upon securing the locator stone in one of the many vaults Tony'd tucked away inside the tower, Thor finally gave Hermione a moment's peace from his barrage of questions about creatures which were supposed to no longer exist in Midgard.

Perhaps ending with dragons was the problem—she'd thought he would follow her and Bucky all the way to their quarters. There may have even been a mental image of the Asgardian camped out in the corridor as he asked questions through the intercom.

She very much liked his enthusiasm and wonderment, but knowing she and Bucky were expecting to go to sleep to have a chat with his step-brother—his step-brother who was supposed to be at the core of the problems they were having—made her a nervous wreck about the idea. She was also relatively certain that if not for her situation with Bucky and Loki, she'd probably fall for the hulking blond Asgardian in a blink, two girlfriends, or no two girlfriends, but that was what happened when a man of Thor's stature behaved in a manner that could only be deemed  _adorable_.

It wasn't until they were in their quarters with the door closed behind them that Bucky turned to face her. "Next time, don't mention dragons, maybe?"

Lifting her gaze to his, Hemione only stared at him for a few heartbeats before she snorted a giggle. "I thought nearly the same thing!"

"I thought you would never be rid of him."

The pair jumped at the voice behind them.

Running on instinct, Hermione whirled on her heel, a stunning spell rocketing from her wand. Bucky, too, had spun, his stance defensive. He moved just in time to see the jet of energy strike Loki.

As she'd originally surmised, the jet-haired man was not affected as the spell intended. He toppled, managing to get his knees under him, so that he crumpled to a kneeling position rather than falling flat on his face, but he remained mostly upright, offering a pained expression.

Giving himself a shake, Loki shifted his attention to Hermione. " _That_ packs quite a wallop."

Frowning, she lifted her wand, scrutinizing the tip—were it a gun, there would be some joke about not shooting herself in the eye, she was certain. "Yes, well, seems it works a bit different on non-Midgardians. That spell is supposed to immobilize you, but not hurt very much, at all. You're hurt, but not immobile, so . . . . This is actually rather fascinating. I'd guessed my magic might work differently if I'd cast any spell on Pathios, too." She tapped the fingers of her free hand against her jaw as she continued examining her wand. "If you wouldn't mind me testing some spells on you, I'd love to—"

"Hermione, doll? This isn't really the time," Bucky said with a strained laugh.

She glanced at him, then at Loki. Just as well, she supposed, as the would-be god looked rather startled by what she'd been interrupted from suggesting. "Right, sorry."

Though she wondered if it was wise, she sheathed her wand—Loki wouldn't hurt her. Odd how she barely knew him, and yet that was one of the few things in this world of which she was absolutely certain. Well, there'd been that knot on her head from their first meeting, when he'd tried to stop her from running to Bucky, and the spectacular bruise along her side now from getting hurled through the astral tear in the ziggurat, but she didn't actually count those.

Really, those instances didn't seem much different than when she'd broken her own ribs escaping the Malfoys. ***** If she thought for one moment he'd lay a hand on her in violence, she'd have already  _tested_  a half-dozen spells on him, whether he'd liked it, or not.

"While I doubt us asking will get a thing out of you about what you're up to," she said, crossing the floor to sit on the edge of the bed, "you did say you'd tell us about that thing we found on Pathios, so . . . talk."

Loki frowned as he got to his feet, noticing the way their witch cringed as she lowered herself to sit. "Why do you make that face? Are you injured?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I don't know, maybe someone _throwing_  her across a fucking temple chamber might have something to do with it?"

To the surprise of both Midgardians in the room, Loki looked sorry. However, he managed to catch himself, clearing his throat as he arched a brow. "It was not my intention to harm you."

Her shoulders drooped. "Loki, stop. I know you didn't—"

"Look," Bucky said through clenched teeth, "if anyone finds out you're here, Hermione and I are going to have a _lot_  of explaining to do. Some of them barely trust me as it is, and they won't trust her at all, if they find out you just happened to pop in for a friendly chat."

Loki smirked, his gaze flicking over Bucky in a quick once-over. "Someone is testy."

"Ya think?" Their Midgardian brute shook his head as he frowned. "You said you'd explain it to us later, in a dream. No way for anyone to detect that, so fine. We didn't expect you to  _physically_ be here. So, since you changed the plan, you need to hurry the fuck up. We're already compromising ourselves for you, what the hell more do you want from us?"

Hermione's brows shot up at his outburst, aware of Loki looking from Bucky to her, and back. None of what he'd said was wrong, so she nodded, mirroring his frown.

"Fair enough." Loki sighed, a scowl marring his features. "Then what shall I do to repay this inconvenience?"

Bucky's broad shoulders slumped as he thought about that. Before he could respond, however—what with the answer being so very obvious—Hermione was speaking.

"Right now, you tell us about that thing we found on Pathios." She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, aware she might later regret the invitation she was about to offer. " _But_ you keep your word to come speak with us later, when we're dreaming. You tell us  _something_  about what it is you're up to."

Loki squared his jaw, green eyes rolling. "The ruling class of Pathios became aware of few alien species with an eye on invading and dominating other worlds. Though they had no way to know for certain if those races would  _ever_ come to them, they took drastic measures to ensure their safety. They knew the people would not agree to their plan, so they proceeded in secret."

Hermione was only vaguely aware of the mattress sinking as Bucky took a seat beside her. "Thor had no idea what had happened there. How is it you know?"

Loki shrugged. "Because I know where to seek obscure knowledge, he does not. When the finest warriors their planet had to offer vanished, the people left finding them in the hands of their rulers—they had little choice in the matter, of course. That is what was kept in those cages you saw. The . . . sacrifices. They were experimented upon, not unlike you and your friend."

Bucky lowered his gaze to the floor, biting hard into his bottom lip. It had been them or that thing, and it was too late to feel sympathy for that creature, anyway.

"Unlike the two of you, however, these experiments relied upon merging dark energies with the bodies of the warriors. It was not until after the first handful of successes that they realized their error. The beasts they created were, for lack of a better term, unstoppable. Attempts to kill them with the means at their disposal were in vain, the best they could do was to subdue them.

"Though they secreted away these failures—just as the one you stumbled upon—they waited for them to die in their sleep. When the creatures continued to exist, without sustenance, without contact of any sort, they understood their mistake was not so easily undone." Loki shook his head. "If these creatures could not be killed or stopped, there was every chance the people of Pathios would be slaughtered long before any invasion could reach them. So, their rulers claimed the planet was dying, and they could not know precisely when their world would become unable to support life any longer. With that, they left their home in search of another, leaving only those creatures behind."

Hermione felt sick. "I hate it when I'm right," she said, her eyes drifting closed.

"Now, I shall take my leave."

Bucky and the witch exchanged a glance. "Wait." Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You never answered her."

Loki furrowed his brow.

"You never gave me your word that you'd return to speak with us later, you only jumped into the story about Pathios," she clarified.

"Ah." Nodding, Loki met her gaze steadily. "You have my word that we will speak again in a few hours' time."

" _And_  you'll tell us something of what you're up to."

Glancing around, as though a response would appear out of thin air, he nodded once more. "You have my word."

Then, he took a step, and in a quick flash of colored light, Loki had vanished from the room.

Hermione and Bucky were silent for a long while afterward, each staring at the place where Loki'd last been.

Finally, she asked, "What do you think?"

Bucky pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring before he answered. "Wormhole travel while covered in alien goop, followed by that story? I think it's going to be a few weeks before my appetite comes back."

A tired snicker bubbling out of her, she let her head fall down against his shoulder.

* * *

*****  As mentioned in chapter 2, when in her flashback she guesses that squeezing through the gap in the window to freedom will earn her a broken rib, or two.


	21. Death Sight

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Death Sight

Hermione opened her eyes with a series of slow, drowsy blinks. She last recalled nodding off on Bucky's shoulder, now she lay flat on her side . . . . Had they simply collapsed backward onto the bed?

Yet, as her surroundings swam into focus before her, she found she recognized the featureless walls with their swarming, ephemeral gold symbols. She made a sound of discomfort in the back of her throat as she pulled herself to sit up.

Bucky, looking no more at ease than she felt, was climbing to his feet beside her.

Loki stood off to one side, his back to them. Though, from his posture, she thought for certain he'd folded his arms across his chest . . . the image of him tapping a thoughtful finger to his jaw as he pondered the symbols in front of him came to mind.

"Finally awake, are you?" The jet-haired man turned his head for only a moment, peering over his shoulder at them. "Well, figuratively speaking, of course."

Bucky's jaw fell a little as he tipped his head back, his gaze tracing over the symbols on the ceiling. "Wow." He wanted to say more, but speech seemed to escape him just then.

"Why did you bring us here?" the witch asked with a clearing shake of her head as she finally stood.

Arching a brow, Loki pivoted on his heel to face them. "You made me give my word that I would tell you something of what I am 'up to,' did you not?"

Feeling just a touch stupid in that moment, Hermione nodded. "Well, yes, but I thought you'd just show up back where we were, again."

Loki frowned, nodding back. He was being far too lenient with these two, but then, he could not bring himself treat than any differently than he already was. Blasted cosmic connections—they were a damned inconvenience.

"I will allow you to ask one question. Only one. I will answer honestly. I had thought reminding you of the power of this place would assist you in choosing what you ask."

"Why does it have to be  _me_?"

Hermione jumped a little, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. The question had tumbled from her lips before she'd even realized she had spoken.

Behind her shielding fingers, she chewed furiously at her bottom lip as she glanced at Bucky. He gaped at her in disbelief, and she could not say she blamed him.

Curling her hands under her chin, she pouted. "Sorry, that one just sort of sprang out."

Groaning, he rubbed his hand over his face. Not that he wasn't curious what it was that made Hermione the key to this place, but . . . . "Maybe, I don't know, you could've asked, 'what are you planning to use this room for?' Or 'what's the deal with this place?'"

She folded in on herself a little at the tone in his voice. "Are you angry with me?"

"What? No." Bucky scowled, his shoulders drooping. "I'm just frustrated that we seem to stop thinking clearly around him," he said, gesturing vaguely toward Loki.

Loki's pale face pinched in a vaguely affronted expression. "Yes, well," he started, his gaze flitting over each of them, in turn, as he spoke, "it is no small feat for me to think clearly around the two of you, either."

Blue eyes rolling, Bucky set his jaw. "Ya know, we didn't ask for this any more than you did. Pretty sure if we'd had a choice, you'd be the _last_  person—"

"Gentleman,  _please_ ," Hermione said, holding up her hands.

Their reactions were comically similar as they turned their attention to her. Each scowling as they exhaled sharply through their nostrils.

At the noisy exhalations, her brows shot up and she shook her head. "Like talking to already-taunted bulls in an arena." Sighing, she dropped her hands. "It may not be the best question, but it is the one I asked, so, Loki? If you would?"

Lowering his gaze to the floor, he darted out his tongue to wet his lips as he thought on his answer. To twist the words, or simply come out and say them cleanly?

Dilemmas, dilemmas.

But then, he saw no benefit to dishonesty in this moment.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You are the last Earthbound Witch. Those of your kind who suffer loss have mysteries revealed to them—the greater the loss, the greater the mystery revealed."

Her brows pinched together as she understood his meaning. "Like the thestrals." Her jaw dropped a bit and her eyes widened.

Bucky thought sure he must've misheard her. He understood a host of languages, but couldn't make sense of the word—what the hell was a  _thestral_? "What?"

She shook her head, biting her lip a moment. "They're these . . . beasts in the magical world, like skeletal horses, but you can't see them unless you've witnessed a death."

Loki only watched their interaction. Once more, he folded his arms across his chest as he waited for her to connect the dots. He didn't fully understand her loss, either, but he was certain—with her tendency to think aloud—that he was  _about_  to understand as she explained how it was that she'd  _become_  the last of the Earthbound Witches.

Her gaze roved, raking the floor of the room. "I can . . . I can only assume that you mean Muggle-borns when you say Earthbound Witches. The greater the loss . . . ? You mean—" She cut herself off, tears gathering in her eyes and the tip of her nose stinging. Her throat felt like it wanted to close around the words.

In a blink, Bucky was beside her, curling a protective arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him with very little awareness of the movement, or instruction to her body to do so. "It's because I felt their deaths." Hermione shook her head, her voice trembling. "It was more than knowing all the other Muggle-borns died, it was after my spell came back to me and I  _felt_  it. Your locator stone must've predicted that that would happen, or it would never have led you to me."

Though he wasn't looking at them, Loki was painfully aware of the weight of their gazes on him as they waited for him to offer some response. "The orb can guide one based on internal predictions it makes, but it does not share entirely what it sees, only the outcome. Only what it deems of most use to its user. I was . . . ." He swallowed uncomfortably. "I was unaware of the depth of your loss."

"How does me being able to see the symbols help you, though?" she asked, deciding to force her feelings away for the moment. Collapsing in another heartbroken heap wasn't going to help their situation any. "Can't you see them, too?"

His perfect jet brows lifting, Loki nodded. "Yes, as can Bucky."

She tipped her head to one side, trying to understand—had she missed something? She didn't think she had. "Then what difference does it make that I—"

"Seeing them," Loki began, a severe frown tugging at the corners of his lips as he crossed the room toward the other two, "is not the same as  _comprehending_  them."

He had her here, now . . . . He should force her to try to read the formula to him. But this was not the room, only a dream of the room. If his memory was off in even the  _slightest_  detail, her translation would be flawed.

Loki ignored the nagging sensation that he was not overly fond of  _forcing_  Hermione into anything, either.

"And  _that_  was a second question."

Hermione exchanged a look with Bucky. Loki'd said only one question, and they were in  _his_  mind . . . . Was he going to punish them, somehow, for overstepping?

"I—I didn't really mean to—"

"You owe me," the Asgardian said as he reached out, lightning-fast, and pressed his fingers to each of their foreheads.

* * *

Hermione and Bucky started awake in their quarters at Avengers tower. Snapping her head up from his shoulder, she glanced about the room as she tried to think about just how bad owing Loki anything might be before she finally met Bucky's gaze.

His shoulders slumping as he let out a breath, he said, "Well, shit."


	22. Sadness Will Out

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Sadness Will Out

Loki had centuries ago mastered the art of lucid dreaming—of carrying his full, waking consciousness with him into slumber when and if he needed, of control over what he did, what he saw, and with whom he interacted. Of course, one might not believe that to be the case with his recent flights of fancy during dreams.

Current events throwing his judgments askew aside, he could say that mastery was why, when he found himself in his childhood bedchamber, he was not terribly surprised to see Frigga. Mother stood by the window, watching the beautiful lights dancing in the sky over Asgard, never seeming to notice how the illumination haloed her.

He was ashamed to admit to himself that she'd forgotten how lovely she was.

Swallowing hard and blinking suddenly, suspiciously damp eyes, Loki dropped his gaze to the floor. All his fault. "Mother, why are you here?"

"Always with that silly question," she said, turning fully toward him with that gentle smile curving her lips. She held the expression until he finally looked up at her, and then let it fade slowly. "Do I not always appear when you are troubled?"

He smirked, uttering a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. Yes, yes, of course she did! She was the only one who had still tried . . . . The only one who had continued to treat him as family after the punishment for his crimes was delivered. Certainly, Thor still  _called_  him brother, but he knew the great blond lummox no longer carried that sentiment in his heart.

Of course he would summon images of his mother when he felt troubled. He understood full well the logic behind it. That did not make seeing her—standing there as though she still breathed—any less potent, did not make it any less painful.

With another kind grin, she moved to sit on the chaise and patted the cushion beside her. Only after a petulant eye-roll, which brought a laugh bubbling out of her, did he move to take the seat she offered.

"So?" Frigga shifted just enough to face her son. "Tell me what troubles you."

Loki's shoulders slumped and he  _just_ barely refrained from rolling his eyes, once more. "It is these wretched Midgardians! I am  _so_  close . . . it's nearly within my grasp, and then these two bumble along and suddenly . . . ." Forcing a gulp down his throat, he again dropped his gaze from her. "Suddenly I question my goal."

She nodded, reaching out to clasp one of his hands between both of hers. "Are you questioning because you think there may be a way to have both, or because you do not know if this goal is still something you desire to achieve?"

He scowled, but did not pull away from her affectionate gesture. "Having both is not possible, it simply is not. The sacrifice required . . . is not a thing up for negotiation. I cannot allow the  _koblet tre_  to flourish beyond this point. Even if only so they do not suffer afterward."

Loki paused, blinking hard as he gave his head a shake. Really? Was that what his misgivings were about? Not leaving his Midgardians to wallow in the pain of a broken  _koblet tre_?

"So that is the problem, then? What you want has changed; there is nothing wrong with such a change."

His gaze snapped up to lock on hers. "Is there not? I have been selfish long enough, have I not, Mother?"

Arching a brow, she nodded. "One cannot deny the truth in your words, however . . . if protecting  _them_  could be a new goal for you, is it really so selfish?"

"Yes," he said, the word spilling from his lips without thought. "Because protecting them would make _me_  happy. Worse, protecting them would ensure that you will never again be more than a memory."

"Then perhaps it is time you allow that to happen."

_"What?"_  He could not believe what he was hearing—and, of course, it seemed to entirely escape his notice that she was a figment of his imagination.

A figment which spoke truths and logic his mind might not otherwise acknowledge, true, yet a figment, nonetheless.

"The only reason you no longer breathe is because of me," he said, frowning so hard the corners of his mouth quivered. " _I_  brought your death. It can only fall to me to change that."

"You continue to blame yourself."

"Of course I do!" What sort of rubbish observation was that, he wondered? He  _knew_  he still blamed himself!

"You did not run the blade through my heart."

"But I—"

"You did not know I would be there to confront Malekith."

"Mother, you are not letting me—"

"Exchanging your life for mine will not alter the past." She lifted her hand, smoothing his frown with delicate swipes of her fingertips.

He did not understand what she was saying . . . . Actually, that was rubbish, as well. He knew perfectly well that he did not  _want_  to understand. "It would allow you a future."

"A future knowing my life came at the expense of one of my sons," she whispered, shaking her head. "What sort of life could that be for  _any_  mother who loves her children?"

Loki blinked hard, forcing a sniffle. Dammit all, why did his eyes sting just now? Had he really been so selfish, again, to not remember that she, alone, had truly loved him? That she would never forgive him if she learned he'd paid such a price?

Such a simple, yet weighty thing he'd overlooked all this time.

"Mother . . . ."

"It is time you let me go. Time you sought greatness, again, Loki."

He chuckled then, and he could not help that it was a sound full of malice and self-deprecation. "If my existence has taught me anything, it is that I am not meant for greatness."

"Then a different sort of greatness than what you thought, perhaps?"

When he didn't respond, she lifted her hands to cup his jaw and forced him to look at her. "You have found yourself part of a connection so rare the fates only grant them to a select few for reasons we cannot begin to understand. Why can _that_  not be your greatness?"

Loki deflated further than he'd thought possible at those words. So . . . was this really all? Was he to simply ignore the effort and energy and calculations he had invested to find the room?

No, he could  _still_  do this!

But then, thoughts of the room brought him back to recalling that his search for it had caused him to find Hermione . . . had caused them both to cross paths with Bucky at that same moment. How funny these fates were . . . it did, indeed, seem planned all along in hindsight.

"I have had my greatness  _and_  my happiness," Frigga said, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. "It is time for you to let me go."

Blinking rapidly, he let her guide his head to rest upon her shoulder. He did not push away her hand as she stroked his cheek and swayed gently in place, as though rocking a small child.

"Let me be a memory, Loki," his mother said, once more, "so that you may be great for _them_."

Loki did not cry, he did not sob nor lash out. But he could not stop a lone tear from slipping free to roll down his cheek.

* * *

Hermione and Bucky started awake at the same time. The lights in their quarters came on automatically at the movement of both of them sitting up.

She gasped, her breath trembling as she looked around.

Mirroring her confusion, his blue eyes wide with unshed tears, he turned his head to look at her. "What the hell was that?"

Her brow furrowing, Hermione sniffled. "I—I've no idea. I don't even think I was dreaming. I just suddenly felt like . . . ."

Bucky had to force a gulp down his throat before he could finish her sentence. "Like your heart was breaking."

Chewing furiously at her lower lip, she nodded.

His frame slumping, he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Hermione went with the motion, tucking herself into his side and pillowing her cheek against his chest.

She hated crying, she truly did, but there was a relief in letting this out while he held her.

Part of that relief was that it saved them from discussing the source of this spectacularly potent emotion. They both knew it could only come from Loki—that _he_  must be going through something that made him feel this wretched.

Neither wanted to have to admit aloud that they were worried for him; neither wanted to consider their sudden and strange frustration over being unable to console him.


	23. If You Knew What I Knew

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

If You Knew What I Knew

During the debriefing the next morning, Steve wasn't certain if Hermione and Bucky were allowing the rest of their traveling party do the talking because they were tired—though, he was pretty sure he had an idea what would've kept them from sleeping, what with how they were around each other—or if there was something else, entirely, distracting them. They both appeared . . . listless, for lack of a better term, darting their gazes about, seeming to respond to things with nods or shakes of the head that appeared afterthoughts, at best.

He really wanted to ask what the hell was going on with them, but he didn't want to draw undue attention to issue, in case it was just a matter of exhausting  _private_  activities being the source of their mutual blaze demeanor. Loki was still as source of tension for them, so that hadn't changed.

In fact, it seemed the only time they each roused from their stupors to pay full attention was when Loki's name was mentioned. But then, when the subject drifted to something else, so, too, would their attention drift.

Steve hated the weighty sense that Bucky was hiding something from him, but then Bucky's entire past had been laid bare before every person in this room, quite without his consent. Perhaps he deserved to keep some things to himself.

"I need the locator stone," Hermione said, abrupt and sounding very much like one coming out of a daze.

Whether it was her words or her voice, Bucky seemed to pull out of his daze, as well. It was only as he turned his head to look at her that he realized the state they'd been in all morning. The state that, apparently, resulted from them feeling Loki's mysterious sadness in the middle of the night.

But so, too, had the rest of the conversation around the table stopped. The unexpected silence rang in his ears as Hermione met his gaze. They had not revealed any part of what Loki had shared with them, because they hadn't known how to without coming clean about the  _koblet tre_ , and he could not begin to imagine what her plan was in asking for the orb.

Though, with the frantic energy he could feel ebbing from her, despite the haze that had consumed them until seconds ago— _God_ , he was never going to get used to this connection they had, was he?—he could guess she had probably come up with something.

"We still need to study that thing and figure out how it works," Tony said, his voice surprisingly reasonable, despite that the preceding conversation had included several things he hated to the pit of his stomach—Loki, Bucky, off-world travel, and creepy alien monsters.

"By the time you manage to understand how the stone functions, Loki could accomplish whatever it is he's looking to do and be done, and we'd be none the wiser."

Shoulders drooping, Tony met the witch's gaze. "You said he needs you to unlock the room, though, didn't you?"

Hermione barely resisted the temptation to grind her teeth. Why did this one always have to be difficult? "Yes, but that doesn't mean there  _isn't_  another way, it only means he hasn't  _found_  another way. When one finds a solution for something, they don't keep looking for answers, they settle for the answer they have already learned. This may be the same—where I'm not the only key to figuring out that room, I'm only the first key he found."

Bucky pursed his lips together, his eyes narrowing as he watched her face. They both knew perfectly well why she _was_  the only key that existed to the room. Could she always lie so smoothly, or was it just something she was capable of under strained circumstances?

It was a troubling question, and so he decided to put it out of his mind for now. They had enough troubles, already, and thanks to their connection he could tell when she was lying, even if he hadn't known the truth of the situation, so he supposed he should not let the question bother him.

"Look," Hermione said, holding up her hand in a placating gesture, "if I can use the stone to find and enter that room with _out_  Loki, maybe I can understand its meaning. If I get that, we might be able to determine what he plans to do with that place's power."

After a moment of silence—during which the entire team darted their attention about at one another, carrying on some private communication of which Bucky and Hermione could not make heads or tails—five of the voices at the table piped up, speaking in unison. "Give her the stone."

Tony, the only one of the Avengers who'd remained quiet, glanced around the table. "Just like that, you all agree to this?"

Steve frowned, shaking his head. "You're not in charge here, Tony. For that matter, neither am I. We're a team, and the team thinks she's right."

Sam shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "Look, do I know if this is a  _good_  idea? No, I don't. But I'm with Cap—"

"Big shock, there."

Continuing on as though Tony hadn't interrupted sense with snark, Sam said, "This whole mess is about trying to figure out what Loki's up to so we can stop him, right? This might be the only way to do that."

As Sam spoke, Thor rose from his seat and stepped away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Natasha asked with a frown—she wasn't certain the matter was settled, and it was unlike the Asgardian to abandon an important discussion in the middle.

Thor didn't bother looking back as he called over his shoulder, "To retrieve the locator stone."

"It's the only plan, sure," Clint said, his brows shooting up, "but is no one even going to try to talk her out of this?"

Bucky mirrored the archer's expression, trying to hide a grin. "Try to talk  _her_ out of . . . yeah, you don't know her very well."

"I think I'll need to be in a trance to access the stone the way Loki was using it." Hermione nodded in agreement with her own thoughts.

"So . . ." Natasha started, "does that mean you need us to hypnotize you, or . . . ?"

"Not quite," the witch said, a thoughtful frown gracing her lips. "I can probably put myself into a trance through mediation, but I'll need the right environment. Do you, by any chance, have a sensory deprivation chamber?"

The entire team answered as one—in a tone as though it was silly to even ask the question, "Of course we do."

* * *

As Hermione was put into the chamber, orb in hand, Bucky felt strangely unsettled by something. He could not put his finger on just what was upsetting him about this mess, but there was a factor they had overlooked.

"I'll be okay," she said, her voice breaking into his thoughts.

He snapped his head up, his gaze looking on hers as she popped back out of the chamber. Only for a moment, though—only long enough to jog back to where he stood and slip her free hand around his neck. She pulled him down to her and kissed him before relinquishing her hold and dashing back inside.

Bucky bit his lip, fidgeting in place as the door to the chamber closed. He could feel the collective attention of the group on him. Then again, he shouldn't be surprised. He well knew only Steve and Natasha considered him human, at all—Steve, because of their history, Natasha because of their similar origins. She considered him a monster only so much as she considered herself a monster.

He knew it was strange for the others to see him do something so simple and human as welcome a kiss, while Steve and Nat wore expressions that were quietly amused by the  _very_ human blush in his cheeks. True, that after everything he and Hermione had experienced of one another, the color in his face was a response to their scrutiny and not the kiss, but they did not know that.

"What?" he demanded of the group watching him in a purposefully mystified tone.

"Nothing," they all managed to say at the same time before turning away to focus on whatever else needed attending.

Shaking his head as he held in a chuckle, Bucky fixed his attention on the chamber. He was probably only nervous because, unlike everything else since the moment they'd met, this was one thing in which he could not accompany her.

After what seemed forever, Natasha, from where she stood at the chamber's panel, monitoring Hermione's vitals, said, "She's under."

Bucky started to nod, but immediately stopped himself. As it sank in that Hermione was floating in the ether, unprotected as she meant to access that room, he realized what troubled him so about this entire thing.

The room existed in the astral plane, and so  _they_  could only access it as astral forms, but . . . . Loki had managed to physically pull them into that plane. If entering the astral plane with physical bodies was possible—presumably by a being with enough power and knowledge, of course—then accessing that room, physically, was possible, too, wasn't it?

Unable to stop himself from moving in an attempt to ease the sudden wash of anxiety coursing through him, Bucky walked over to the panel, watching the readouts over the top of Natasha's head.

Sensing his presence at her back, Nat nodded reassuringly. "She'll be fine."

Bucky's bottom lip poked outward, but he remained silent. He was too aware that if Hermione were standing there with them, she'd smooth the tips of her fingers across him mouth and tell him how cute he was when he pouted. That only caused the anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach to wind tighter.

His realization about the room made him aware this was profoundly more dangerous than they'd initially considered. If anyone other than Loki had already figured out what had just occurred to him . . . .

"She'd better be," he said, his voice spilling out in a low, dangerous tumble of sound.


	24. Can't Take You Anywhere

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Can't Take You Anywhere

The thing that woke Hermione was the sense of concern churning in her gut. Even before she willed herself to sit up in this strange, misty, inconsistent form, she knew the feeling was ebbing to her from Bucky.

Her gut reaction was to go to him, but she knew that was not currently possible. Well, technically she supposed it was, but she could not waste time by testing the theory running through her head at the moment that, if she did slip from the chamber to stand out there beside him in her astral form, he would sense her presence. True, they were able to sense when Loki was near, so that should be enough of a gauge. Perhaps it only occurred to her to try because she and Bucky and not truly been apart since the moment they'd met.

Giving her head a shake, she stood and took a few steps, getting her bearings.  _Don't look, Hermione, it'll be weird . . . ._  And yet, she could not stop from turning to look back at herself.

There was her physical body just floating there, hands folded over her midsection as she held the orb. She had to admit, she looked peaceful, even as disconcerting as it was to be staring at herself like this.

The glowing silver thread that drifted from her back to her unconscious form was a comfort. Studying this phenomenon previously had taught her coming back to her body would be as simple as willing it so, and the silver cord was a tether so her astral form could not be set adrift from her physical body.

Her fingers twitched involuntarily around a cool, smooth surface and she raised her hand to see she clutched a reflection of the locator stone. She was relatively certain this little adventure she was about to embark on was not something she ever wished to duplicate, so she hoped this would be the  _only_  time she had to do this.

Freeing though it felt on levels she could never have imagined, she  _needed_  solidity and form and rules that bloody made sense. The rules of the astral plane were the text book description of  _madcap_.

Hermione drew a deep breath and let it out slow, trying to release both her own anxiety, and her awareness of Bucky's concern, still so palpable to her. As she exhaled, she shifted her focus to the glass sphere in her hand.

"All right, let's start easy," she said, uncertain why she was whispering. The orb was an incredibly old mystical artifact, not entirely dissimilar from ancient magic, and old mysticism was as simple to command as it was complex to craft into tools. "Show me a path to the room."

The dancing lights within the orb flickered, but did not do much else. Perhaps she needed to be more specific?

"Show me a path to the room Loki showed me?"

Flickering.

Damn. Loki had never specifically called the room by any name or title, so she did not know what the orb would recognize it as. She frowned, thinking back on both times she'd been there. No windows, no doors . . . . Only those glowing sigils everywhere that painted the walls in soft gold.

Indeed, that golden illumination seemed its only defining feature.

Nodding to her own thoughts, she tried once more. "Show me how to get to the golden room."

The orb shuddered in her grasp, the lights inside swirling in an explosion of color and frequency. She held tight to it, shutting her eyes against the brightness.

Its shuddering stilled, and the dance of colored light within slowed.

Hermione opened her eyes at the sense of the orb going dead in her hands. "No!"

She lifted it in examination. In its depths, sparkling hues still pulsed and she breathed a sigh of relief. How odd that she nearly felt as though this stone was alive.

Okay, so after all she'd seen, it was entirely possible the thing was at least sentient, if not alive in the _living_  sense. But this was not the time for such pondering!

Sooner than she could raise her head from her inspection of the locator stone to take in her surroundings, she became aware of that familiar wash of golden illumination lighting her skin. Swallowing hard, she looked up.

The glowing gold symbols stared back at her from the featureless walls.

She could not help a smirk as she nodded. "Hermione, you are a smart one," she said to herself in a whisper. There was no time, however, for patting herself on the back.

She did not like this place—she even less liked being here alone.

Giving herself a shake, she stepped closer to the nearest wall and focused on the first set of symbols.

It seemed like forever passed as she stared and stared, with nothing coming clear to her. More than a few times she reminded herself time did not exist in the astral plane, so it  _was_  forever, and in the same instance, no time at all.

Just as she started to grow frustrated with it all, the symbols before her shifted and twisted. A disquieting handful of heartbeats passed before she realized the symbols were not, in fact, moving.

Her mind's eye was rearranging them into an order that would make sense to her.

* * *

Loki was not at all pleased to find her in the room. He'd come here to have one last look at the place, and finding her here, apparently doing the thing he'd meant for her to do from the start, did  _not_  help his resolve to leave this behind him!

Bloody damnation. Bucky was not with her. That could only mean the unsettling anxiety twisting in the pit of Loki's gut—which he'd attributed to his new, fool notion to abandon his plans, as he'd not wanted to think any deeper on the matter—was coming from their Midgardian brute.

_Never would have pegged_ that  _one to be such a worrier._

"What are you doing here?"

Loki's voice at her back did not even cause her to stir. She'd known he was there the moment he popped up. She could feel his uneasiness, and Bucky's anxiety lingered, still. Yet none of that compared to the shock she was feeling as she blinked a few times in rapid succession, almost refusing to process the information before her.

"It's a spell. This equation, it's spell mechanics. Impossibly ancient, but . . . it's  _magic_ , Loki," she said, breathless in wonder. "Magic that should not exist in this world."

He didn't like the tone of her voice. This room had pulled him in with its power and its mystery, he realized that, now. He'd been so obsessed because that's what this place wanted—it  _wanted_  to be used.

Only now did it occur to him that lure would pull at her even more fiercely since she could  _understand_ it.

"Hermione, come away from there, now."

The pitch of his voice drew her, and she felt herself backpedaling in his direction, but did not tear her gaze from the symbols. "It's—it's incomplete." She shook her head. "There's part that can't be seen clearly here. It says  _the power delivered unto the one joined here in body and mind_. What does that mean, exactly?"

Green eyes shooting wide, he wrapped his arms around her. "It means we must leave this place.  _Now_." Oh, it was a very bad plan he had in mind, now—mostly for himself—but it would be the only way to protect her from this place's pull.

Loki wrenched her from the room and the next thing she recalled, she was opening her eyes back inside the chamber.

Hermione sat up with a gasp. The touch of a hand on her back had her ready to jump out of her skin. Turning her head to look to the source of the touch, she went wide-eyed.

"Oh! Oh, this is  _not_  good."

* * *

"Hold on," Natasha said, leaning closer to the panel, as though that would make the readouts clearer to her. "There's a . . . .  _What_? There's a second set of vitals in there."

Everyone else turned suspicious looks on Bucky.

He glanced about, meeting each of their gazes in turn before he held up his hands. "She's not pregnant."

"No, you idiots. The scanners on this machine aren't sensitive enough to read something like  _that_." She shook her head. "For it to read like this, there would have to be another _individual_  being in—"

The sound of the chamber's door opening cut into her words. Everyone looked up expectantly as Hermione climbed out.

There was something . . . Bucky could feel it even before she started fidgeting in place. She took another step forward and gestured toward the interior of the chamber.

Loki stepped out, so much taller than the witch that he seemed to have to unfold as he climbed out to stand at her shoulder.

Everyone jumped into defensive stances at the sight of him. Everyone _except_  Bucky and Hermione.

Quite before either of them realized they'd moved, they placed themselves between Loki and the Avengers.

When this action stopped all other motion in the room, Hermione said in a low breath of sound, "Oops."

"So," Tony started—though, to his credit he genuinely seemed to be keeping his snarky  _I told you so_  tone out of his voice at seeing evidence that the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes, had not been _honest_  with them. "I'm going to just guess you three know each other a  _little_  better than you've led us to believe."

Hermione and Bucky exchanged a glance before they each met Loki's gaze for a moment.

"Buck?" Steve asked, his brows drawing together as he took in the sight of the trio. "What's going on?"

With another glance at Hermione and Loki, Bucky dropped his attention to the floor as he thought how best to ease into this discussion. Wincing as he sucked his teeth, he nodded.

"So . . . funny story . . . ."


	25. A Problem Like Loki

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

A Problem Like Loki

By unspoken agreement, they—Loki now included in the attempt at explaining the mess they'd found themselves in—once more omitted the  _smuttier_  parts of everything that had happened since the moment they'd all met. Just as Hermione and Bucky had done the other day when the Avengers had first found them.

"So . . . you see," Hermione said, her voice unsteady and her hands flailing in nervous, fidgeting motions, "it wasn't that we _wanted_  to be dishonest with you, all. We truly couldn't help it. We just felt driven to protect him."

"Yeah, 'cause you'd be the first people Loki hasn't  _manipulated_  into thinking he's worth anything." Tony shook his head, an exasperated sigh tumbling out of him. He'd  _known_ trusting Bucky was a bad idea, but would anyone listen to him?  _No!_

Bucky—not currently caring about his usual point of regarding Tony with a grain of salt due to his  _history_  with the Stark family—bared his teeth a little. "It's not like that!"

Nodding, Tony pursed his lips. "Right, because that's not  _exactly_  the sort of thing manipulated people say."

Uttering a scoffing sound in the back of his throat, Bucky threw back his head to glare at the ceiling.

Tony looked about at the rest of his team. Cap and Sam seemed to be waiting for someone, anyone, to throw a punch so they would know what to react to, Natasha and Clint were in a hushed discussion as their gazes leaped about the trio before them, and Thor . . . . Thor was strangely quiet. Calm on the surface, despite his pacing, his attention locked on his brother, all the while.

"Is no one else going to chime in, here?"

"Okay," Natasha said, holding up a placating hand. "None of us trust Loki, but there's _got_  to be something to all of this if he made the choice to show his face here, knowing we all want him dead."

Loki tipped his head to one side as he granted the redhead a grin. "I have always admired your cleverness."

Sighing, Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Yeah." Sam shook his head. "Because  _everyone_  wants to be admired by an alien psychopath."

"Unless it's part of his plan," Steve said, deliberately ignoring the commentary as he tried to be the voice of reason. He didn't want  _any_  part of this argument. Bucky had kept this from him, and that stung like hell, but he also knew that after everything they'd been through, if Bucky said he hadn't shared any of this because he  _couldn't_ , then Steve believed him.

"I do not believe it is part of any _plan_." Thor broke from his pacing to approach the three. "At least, not one that benefits himself."

"Did we miss something?" Clint asked, his brows drawing upward.

Thor nodded. "We  _all_  did. This is about what you asked me on Pathios, is it not?" He met Hermione's eyes as the question hung in the air. "The  _koblet tre_. You three are thus connected?"

Tony and Sam, the only ones who'd stayed behind, looked about for someone to explain. Nat, Steve, and Clint all scrambled to remember the exact discussion that had taken place.

Hermione swallowed hard, glancing back to meet Bucky and Loki's gazes. What were they supposed to do? Admit to this mystical bond that sounded  _completely_ ludicrous?

"You said it was some sort of inescapable connection, didn't you?" Natasha frowned in thought.

"Not in quite those words, but you capture my meaning, yes," Thor said with a nod.

Tony sneered in disbelief. They'd all left their sanity on Pathios, clearly, because this was  _nuts_. "Did it occur to you maybe Loki's using the idea of this _koblet_. . . whatever it is to trick you two?"

Thor sighed, seeming defeated. Loki was having too much fun watching his brother speak in his defense, and they both knew it, but this was a matter of fate, not something to take lightly.

"One cannot fake the connection of a  _koblet tre,_ Tony."

"How can you be so—?"

"We can test out his resolve," Thor suggested, turning on his heel, away from the three as he twirled Mjolnir absently. "We imprison his Midgardians until he—"

The response to the thrill of anxiety that wound through Hermione and Bucky, both—each with their less-than-sunny memories of imprisonment—was instantaneous as Loki shot forward, the action cutting off his brother's words as he placed himself before  _his_  Midgardians. "You will touch them  _only_  over my dead body!"

Thor glanced back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in expectation. Immediately after the words fell from his lips, and after realizing it was a ploy to garner a reaction from him, Loki's green eyes widened in an expression of shock that spoke  _volumes_.

Holding in a groan, Tony rested his elbows on the nearest surface and buried his face in his hands.

Steve looked from one Asgardian to the other, and back. "Okay, but this all means  _what_  for what's happening?"

Massive shoulders slumping, Thor said, "It means he has an important reason for coming here. Even with their bond, he would not come out of hiding unless there was no other way to protect them."

"My brother is correct." Looking back at his Midgardians, Loki allowed a look of pain to twist his features. "If you must imprison me, then so be it, but  _after_  I have aided them in what needs to be done."

"Okay, okay." Bucky pinched between his brows in exhaustion. How was he so tired so fast? Oh, yeah, because people kept throwing new crazy crap at him! " _We_  aren't even sure what you think  _needs_ to be done."

Loki pursed his lips in thought before he suggested, "Perhaps we may all sit down for this?"

* * *

Despite his words, as everyone else sat around the table, Loki paced. Thor was almost comforted to see his brother openly fretting, while Hermione and Bucky fidgeted in their seats, both visibly unsettled by the jet-haired Asgardian's anxiety.

He clearly did not like the idea of sharing the information he was about to give them.

"That room . . . it has amazing power. Hermione felt it. She had started translating the symbols, in fact. And now . . . she's never going to be able to stop thinking about it."

Bucky glanced at her uncertainly, but she could not meet his gaze. Loki was right—the entire time they'd been back in the physical plane, a corner of her mind had been poking and prodding her to keep going over what symbols she recalled.

Loki drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. "It was in seeing her response that I realized the danger that place would  _always_  represent to her. We must find a way to close it off, render it inaccessible."

"Why?" Hermione realized, as she asked the question, that it only lent into what Loki had just said that  _she_  was the one to inquire. " _You're_ the one who wanted to use that room's magic in the first place!"

"And I understood that was wrong when I saw how it affected  _you_!" Loki clenched his teeth, his green eyes narrowing at her—how could she not understand this? "I thought to just leave it alone, to simply walk away, but then I saw the hold it was already having on you. I recognized the lure it had for me was the same and I realized there is something wrong with that place! It is not a power with which _any_  living thing should trifle!"

Bucky stood up from his chair, then. He stepped between Hermione and Loki and put his hand on the Asgardian's chest. "Loki, calm down."

Tearing his gaze from Hermione, Loki looked to Bucky. After a moment, he nodded and backpedaled a step. Whirling on his heel, he raked his fingers through is hair. "My apologies. I am frustrated that she is so lax with her own safety."

"Tell me about it," Bucky said with a nod.

Hermione scowled. "Oh, will you two  _just_ —"

Sam cut into their aside with a short whistle. "Hey, triple-threat? Save the lovers' spats for later. You were telling us about this room."

Thor stood, then. Sitting during this discussion was making him more edgy, not less. "What were you planning to do with that power, Loki?"

Meeting his brother's gaze for a few heartbeats, Loki said, "You may want to reclaim your seat for this."

"I think I will remain standing."

Loki rolled his eyes—always the stubborn one, his brother. "All right. The room has great power, yes, but accessing that power does not just require the formula on its walls be translated. It also requires a sacrifice." He felt the tension in the room jump as everyone assumed what that meant, but before anyone could voice their thoughts, he tacked on, "I was going to offer my life to the room's power."

"For  _what_?" Hermione and Bucky asked in one voice.

Loki hated that how concerned they both sounded tore at him. Swallowing hard, he forced himself not to look at them, forced himself to continue holding Thor's gaze even as he answered them. "The room . . . grants the power to rewrite a single moment of time. To change a single decision of Fate, itself."

Thor did not think he liked where this was going, at all. "What did you mean to do, Loki?"

With a mirthless laugh, he said, "I was going to resurrect our mother. And I was going to exchange  _my_  life to do it."

His answer threw a hush over the room. Every drumming finger or tapping foot ceased, every murmured aside or fidgeting movement halted. No one knew what to do with the notion that Loki was willing to give up his life for  _anything_.

Bucky reached out, clasping one of Hermione's hands in his own. They both knew—the wretched pain emanating from Loki in that moment was the same as what had woken them during the night— _this_  was what he felt heartbroken over.

Thor exhaled a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly a few times to keep an unexpected wash of tears in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he shook his head. He wanted more than anything to see their mother, again. But Frigga would not accept what Loki's decision. And, even with all his brother had done, he wasn't certain _he_  could accept it, either.

"Mother would never want you to give your life for hers."

_"A future knowing my life came at the expense of one of my sons," she whispered, shaking her head. "What sort of life could that be for any mother who loves her children?"_

His own eyes suspiciously damp, Loki nodded, darting out the tip of his tongue to wet his lips. "I realized that, finally—after too long, I would think. The power of that place blinded me to what she actually would have wanted."

Hermione felt an aching pang in her heart, as she understood the only course of action. "That's it, then, I know what to do."

Loki's brows shot up in question as he turned to look at his witch. From the corner of his eye, he could see Bucky mirrored his expression.

"Eventually, someone else  _will_ find that room. They may figure out how to use it without need of someone like me to decipher the spell," she said, frowning. "And they probably won't be using it for something so benign as what you'd intended."

When she was certain she had everyone's attention, Hermione nodded. "Making the room inaccessible might not be enough; we have to destroy it. And I think I know how."


	26. Hermione's 'Bright' Idea

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Hermione's  _Bright_  Idea

"Oh," Loki said, his expression blank as he finally claimed a seat. "You  _must_  be joking!"

His witch frowned, glancing about at the group. Even Bucky was staring at her as though she'd just spouted some unintelligible dialect.

"I . . . I don't understand the looks." Hermione shook her head. "It's simple. The power of the room can allow the user to rewrite one thing in existence, correct?"

Thor and Loki exchanged a quick, uncomfortable look. "Those were not my  _precise_ words . . . ."

She rolled her eyes so hard her lids fluttered. " _To rewrite a single moment of time. To change a single decision of Fate, itself_." When he blinked rapidly a few times, she tacked on, "I have a  _stunningly_ good memory."

Loki scowled. He was certain that probably came in handy on many occasions, but when she was using it to recall details that supported a mad plan to endanger herself, not so handy, at all.

"And this business about body and mind being joined there?"

Bucky tipped his head, looking past her to meet Loki's displeased gaze. "What?"

"Part of the spell she translated." Loki sighed and shook his head. "Good thing, too, or she might have accidentally unlocked the room's power, right then."

"She'd have to be in the room,  _physically_ , then project and read the spell for it to work, wouldn't she?"

Loki's brows shot up at Bucky's grasp of the situation. "She would."

Hermione's jaw fell. "That is so obvious, now. Why didn't that occur to me?"

Bucky and Loki answered in the same breath, " _Because_  it was obvious."

She glanced around the table at the collective snicker from the rest of the group. They'd all been watching the conversation between the three with rapt attention. If they weren't going to chime in to be helpful, then they should just bloody well stay out of it, all together. "Oh, shut it, the lot of you."

Loki and Bucky each seemed to be waiting for her to return to their discussion. Hermione looked from one to the other and let out a sigh as she refocused her attention

"Look, back to what the spell actually  _does_ —it's the same meaning," she said, reaching out to place one of her hands over each of theirs. Their expressions softened a little at her touch. "The power allows us to force Fate's hand. So, we use that to tell the room to cease to exist."

"Except that you need to be  _inside_ the room or the spell won't work." Bucky was not the slightest bit happy about _any_ part of this. He continued, speaking through clenched teeth, "And, oh, yeah, let's not forget the whole having to  _sacrifice_ yourself thing!"

"Okay, now . . . ." She paused, licking her lips nervously—yes, she was sure of her plan, what she was  _un_ sure of was their reactions. "That will be where you two come in."

Loki slapped the palm of his free hand against his face while Bucky let his head fall back as he uttered a miserable groan.

Nat shifted in her seat to lean back against Steve. "You should be happy we're here to see this play out," she said in a whisper.

Steve winced, uncertain how being spectators to this scene could be anything other than awkward. "Why's that?"

Turning her head, she caught his gaze. "Because I see how much of a hassle it is to have more than one boyfriend."

For the first time since he'd watched Bucky jump to protect Loki, Steve cracked a grin.

They pair looked up to see the trio had all turned to look at them—as had their fellow Avengers.

"Are you two quite finished?" Hermione asked, though she didn't know if she was more bothered by the interruption when she'd  _just_ worked up the courage to tell Loki and Bucky what their parts of her plan were, or because with both of them there before her, she had honestly forgotten anyone else was even in the room.

Nat and Steve shared a mildly abashed look, even as Clint said on their behalf, "Sorry."

Sam nodded. "They do this a lot."

"A  _lot_ ," Tony tacked on through lightly clenched teeth.

Hermione gave herself a shake and returned her attention to—as Natasha put it—her boyfriends. "Okay. The room, if we're there physically, I mean, if it can be accessed  _physically_ , then it's an actual place, as well as something that exists in the astral realm. That means it can't just  _bloop_ out of existence, it will take at least a few seconds to physically un-create itself. It would need to break down to its base components,  _before_  it can cease to be. That will give  _you_ at least enough time to get _us_  out of there, if you move fast."

Loki arched a brow at that last part. "Us?"

She flashed him an awkward grin, and the dark-haired Asgardian's face fell. He could already feel that he wasn't liking this part any better than the rest of her plan.

"Well," she said, taking a moment to puff out her cheeks as she weighed her words. "You did not say the room requires the sacrifice of a  _life_ , specifically, now did you?"

Loki's brows shot up as his jaw dropped.

"Let me get that for you," Thor said, enjoying seeing his brother at a loss for words as he reached his hand beneath Loki's jaw to snap his mouth shut.

Loki managed to shoot Thor a look of utter contempt before returning his attention to Hermione. "I did not, you are correct."

"Right, so, you will come with us—you have to, anyway, because you're the only one who can physically take us into the astral plane—you project with me, and when it is time to make the offer . . . we  _both_  give up some of our power to it, no suicidal offers necessary."

"Whoa, wait," Bucky said, holding up a hand before Loki could even think to agree. "Give up part of your  _power?_  So, what, some of your magic, and some of his . . . whatever it is Asgardians have?"

Loki held up one finger. "Technically, I am a Frost Giant."

Scowling, Bucky started, "That's not really my—"

"No, Loki is correct," Thor said with a nod. "He is a Frost Giant, he only  _appears_  Asgardian."

Tossing up his hands, Bucky turned to look at the rest of the table. From their expressions, he guessed they often dealt with Thor sidetracking over minutia during important talks.

He drew in a sigh and let it out slowly as he clasped his hands together—more an attempt to stop himself from reaching out to strangle Loki than an effort to calm himself. "Fine, whatever. But I do _not_  like the sound of this. What if this damn room takes too much, and I can't get you out? You two won't be able to do anything to help yourselves!"

"That's why . . . Thor is going to come with us."

The brothers exchanged a surprised look as they, and Bucky, all said at once, "What?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Well, we can't bring the entire team through the astral realm. A few individuals not looking for trouble won't disrupt much, but  _all_ of us, and . . . sorry, but you lot sort of invite trouble wherever you go and I have that problem enough, on my own. So, Thor goes with us. Bucky will be inside the room with us, Thor outside, in case Bucky's efforts to get us out are hampered."

Tony held up his hand, waiting for the witch to meet his gaze.

"Thor's secondary purpose there, will be to escort us back here, Mr. Stark." She caught Loki's eye, saw him nod with where he knew she was going with this before she went on. "Loki promised you could imprison him when this was done, and we will not interfere with him making good on that promise."

"See, I knew I liked you," Tony said with a frown. "If only you kept better company."

She granted him a smile. "I knew I liked you, if only you had a better attitude."

"Touché."

"So that's it?" Sam asked, with a mildly confused shake of his head. "You four are just going to . . . walk into the astral plane,  _wish_ this room out of existence and then pop on back here?"

Hermione looked around at Bucky, Loki, and Thor. They all nodded, though, none of the four of them seemed particularly pleased with this plan—but it was as sound as they could hope for, and they all knew it. "Well, yes."

Steve heaved a weighted sigh as he pushed up to stand. "And, I guess we'll be waiting for you to return." He locked his gaze on Loki as he added, "With restraints."

"Understood." Loki didn't look thrilled by the notion, but a promise  _was_ a promise.

Sniffling, Hermione pushed past the sudden wash of anxiety stealing through the pit of her stomach. She knew there was no hiding her nervousness from Bucky and Loki, but she put on a brave face so the others would not see her trepidation.

"Okay," she said with a firm nod. "Let's do this."


	27. Friendship Woes

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Friendship Woes

Thor scowled as he followed his brother through the nearest astral tear. Once inside, he did not spare any thought to the strange and misty appearance of their surroundings. Instead, he met each of their gazes, in turn.

"I hate all of you,  _just_  a bit, right now."

At that, Loki and Bucky exchanged a glance. They wore mirrored expressions so eloquent, they may as well have opened their mouths and asked  _What's new?_

The witch, however, couldn't help a pout as she stared up at him. She knew no one was happy to have been deceived by her and Bucky, but she'd thought Thor, at least, would understand due to the unique circumstances of a  _koblet tre_.

"Even  _me_?"

Turning his attention to her directly, he tried his best to hold his soured expression. Yet, after only a few seconds, his broad shoulders slumped. "Now . . . you listen here, little witch, I—I am  _so_ —you can't . . . ."

She only watched him in silence as he struggled with just what to say.

"We  _bonded_ over dragons," he finally said, his voice spilling out in a confused and wounded whisper.

Bucky's brows shot up and Loki dropped his head back to stare daggers at the heavens. Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a sound that wasn't entirely human at how sad the blond Asgardian sounded.

She let her fingers slip down enough to speak. "I'm sorry, really. I didn't  _mean_  to lie to you about Loki, honestly!"

Thor's wildly unhappy expression melted into a simple frown as he nodded. "I know." He rolled his eyes as he tacked on, "Still hurts."

"Oh, Thor," Hermione said, shaking her head as she uttered a small, sympathetic laugh.

Bucky instinctively shot out his arm, just in time to stop Loki from stomping over to the pair.

"I really  _am_ sorry. I would very much like us to be friends."

He nodded. "I would like that, too, little witch, but I do not know if that is possible with this madness surrounding you."

She truly did feel bad—she understood perfectly well that she and Thor had connected on a level she hadn't managed with the other Avengers in such a short time, no matter how she liked them. Even so, she'd not expected him to take this so hard. It actually hurt a little that he was upset like this, more so that  _she_  had made him feel this bad.

Scrambling to find some way to get them past this, she thought perhaps appealing to his ego might do the trick. Asgardian, or not, he was a male, after all.

Dropping her gaze to the floor, she shuffled one foot as she offered, "If it helps . . . it has occurred to me, more than once, that if not for my involvement with Bucky and Loki, I'd probably have fallen for  _you_ , easily."

Again, Bucky reached out, catching Loki by the back of his neck, this time, as the jet-haired man started toward his brother and their witch, once more. Tugging him to backpedal a few steps, Bucky said in a whisper, "Let them finish hashing this out so we can get on with this mess."

Loki turned his most lethal glare on Bucky, but only for a moment before he returned his attention to the pair. "Fine, but only because it is  _you_  asking."

When Hermione looked up, Thor's gaze was roving around, as though weighing her words.

At last, he asked, "Really?"

Her jaw fell. Who would lie about the potential of falling for a good-humored, gorgeous, muscly  _god_? "Absolutely!"

"So . . . ." He stroked at his beard as he thought. "In some other life . . . ?"

Grinning, she nodded. Who knew what was about to happen? This moment of levity was  _desperately_  needed. "What might've been, yeah?"

" _Now_ are you two finished?"

Hermione and Thor turned to look at a visibly exasperated Loki. Bucky stood at his shoulder, making a clear attempt not to laugh. He'd known from their first words to each other that there was a spark between those two that just wasn't meant to be—a simple fact of chemistry that, he realized, Loki had not been there to witness, as he had.

They exchanged a quick look before both nodding.

"Good," Loki said in a huff that made all three of his traveling companions snicker. He rolled his eyes, even as he stomped over to Hermione and snatched the locator stone from her hand.

"Hey!"

"Shhh," he said with a subtle shake of his head as he held the orb at eye-level. She did not understand that while  _they_  could both get to the room on their own, the other two accompanying them had never actually been there before, despite Bucky's dream-time visit to it last night, and that complicated things somewhat.

He needed the stone's power to deliver them all there in one go.

She gasped at the unexpected rolling and buckling of the ground beneath their feet. Hermione looked to the others—Bucky and Thor appeared as surprised as she. The only one who remained passive about the shuddering of their surroundings was Loki.

Just as she opened her mouth to demand he explain what was happening, the rocking ceased.

The room was before them. They were outside it, and she'd never seen it from the outside, but she could  _feel_ that this was it. She could sense the familiar power whispering to her from within.

And yet . . . .

Swallowing hard, she cast her gaze about. The rippling play of light and shadow across the featureless walls drew her attention, and that of Bucky and Thor, as well.

"Oh, God," she said in an awed whisper.

"We are under water?" Thor's voice carried the same tone of hushed wonder as Hermione's.

Bucky sucked his teeth, nodding. "I am _never_  going to get used to this astral plane shit."

Loki busied himself with looking for the room's entrance. It was not  _truly_  without a way in, it only appeared that way. As he trailed his hands along the seemingly solid walls, he glanced back at the three over his shoulder.

Perhaps he should have given them some forewarning of the physical room's location.

Hermione noted the submerged structures around them, then. Pyramids and roadways . . . fallen megalithic statues so obscured by centuries upon centuries of algae that she could not make out their features.

The words were spilling from her lips before she could even believe she was asking the question, "Is this . . . ? Are we in Atlantis?"

"Do not be ridiculous."

Hermione didn't have time to decide if she was disappointed or relieved before Loki spoke again, clarifying his answer.

"This is Lemuria."

She let out a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly a few times. " _Mu?_  Mu is real?"

"So you have heard of this place?" Thor asked, still having a hard time with being at the bottom of an astral reflection of ocean.

Bucky, too, was still looking around, and answered for her in a distracted tone. "If something exists, she's  _probably_ read about it, somewhere."

"Ah, here we go."

Hermione redirected her attention to Loki. He stood with half his arm appearing to vanish into one of the walls.

"Bucky, Hermione . . . it is time."

Nodding, she forced down a sudden thrill of icy fear in the pit of her stomach. She knew what to do, now she just had to do it.

Turning to face Thor, who, to his credit, looked suitably worried, she forced a smile. "We'll be okay."

He gave her a stern face. "You had  _better_  be."

Just in case, she bounced up and planted a kiss on the Asgardian's cheek. Granting him a second, parting smile, she turned on her heel and followed Bucky and Loki.

After they vanished inside, Thor flicked his gaze about. Letting out a sigh, he nodded, a thoughtful smirk playing on his lips. "What might have been."


	28. Power For a Price

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Power For a Price

"I still can't believe I'm  _physically_ inside this room," Hermione said, even as she moved to the closest wall to examine the glowing golden symbols hovering there.

Bucky shifted in place, edgy, as though preparing for combat as he watched her. "Yeah, we're not here to play with them while you're  _awake_ , remember?"

When she seemed unable to tear her gaze from the symbols, Loki took the liberty of clamping his hands over her hips. Yanking her backward a few steps, he spun her to face the center of the room.

Bracing her hands over his, she gave herself a shake to get her bearings. " _Woo_. Sorry. So, um, okay, now I can't . . . um . . . ."

Loki and Bucky exchanged a worried look. "What is it?" At this point, they couldn't even get exasperated with one another that they'd asked the question at the same time, anymore.

Being on the same page more often than not  _was_  to be expected, they all understood that. Didn't make the more obvious indications of it any less jarring when they happened, though.

Meeting Bucky's gaze, and then Loki's, she shook her head. "I've never performed astral projection before the sensory deprivation chamber at the Tower a few hours ago. I'll need you to put me to sleep so you can pull me out of my body."

"That is madness on the face of it," Loki said in a mildly awed whisper. Just when he thought she could not come up with an idea more insane than bidding the room uncreate itself while they were  _inside_  it . . . .

She let out a sigh, closing her eyes as she pressed the fingertips of one hand against her temple. "No, it's not. You're a Frost Giant, right? That grants you an ability to freeze things, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"So, you can lower a person's core body temperature fast enough to knock them out instantly, can't you?"

Wide-eyed, Loki glanced at Bucky. Bucky, in turn, only shrugged, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled and shook his head. "Don't look at me, I'm just here as an exit strategy, remember? Bat-shit crazy schemes are _her_  department."

Certainly, she was correct. Loki had used his abilities in such a way before, but not on someone  _dear_ to him.

"And you _can_  control those abilities so that you would _only_  do enough to knock me out without damaging my body, can't you?"

Now, his eyes narrowed at the barely veiled challenge in her voice. "Well, of  _course_  I can. To whom, precisely, do you believe you are speaking?"

Getting exactly the reply she wanted, Hermione granted him sly smirk.

Loki shook his head, even as he grinned in spite of himself. "Oh, you  _are_  wickedly clever, you."

When she beamed at the praise, Bucky leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back, doll."

"Right! Focus, Hermione," she said to herself, nodding. "Okay, so as I was saying, just put me to sleep and then pull my astral form from my physical body. I mean, that's what you must've done to ensure we were here last night for that chat, right?"

Loki narrowed his eyes at her, once more. "That keen insight of yours is going to get me into trouble someday, is it not?"

Again with her smirk. "Probably. Is it going to be weird to be here and  _here_? I suppose it will. I mean, it would have to be, right? Of course, it would! So, when do we—?"

Loki pressed two fingers to the side of her throat, putting her out sooner than she could even finish the question. Blinking in surprise, Bucky moved like a shot to catch her before she hit the floor.

Frowning at the other man as he lowered himself to set her down carefully, he said, "A little warning would've been nice."

With a roll of his eyes, Loki shook his head as he settled down beside the unconscious witch. "Oh, stop. You  _knew_  I was going to do that."

After a grudging moment, Bucky nodded. "Yeah, okay, I did." He hadn't liked it, but he was more than aware they'd both recognized that Hermione's burst of chatter was her nervousness trying to delay what they were there to do.

"You will be able to see us, but communication between our forms might be hampered," the Asgardian explained as he drew a calming breath. This was bloody ridiculous, but then he knew he was anxious not for himself, but for the thought that  _they_  might not make it out of here if Hermione's assessment about the room needing to break down into its base elements, first, was incorrect.

"I will see to it nothing happens to her," he tacked on.

"Yeah, well . . . ." Bucky stood, looking about uncomfortably as he cleared his throat. "Just make sure you  _both_ come out of it okay."

Loki hid a smirk as he closed his eyes. Unlike Hermione, he needed to focus for only a few moments before he pulled himself from his physical body. Though he could see Bucky clearly, he could not understand the words that fell from the other man's lips. He felt certain it was a comment about how odd  _this shit_ was.

Bucky could only watch in a wide-eyed daze as Loki—this weird, glowy, semi-transparent version of Loki, standing over his own body—moved toward the sleeping witch. Reaching down, he slipped his hand around Hermione's wrist and tugged.

The way she emerged made Bucky think that there should have been a comical popping noise to accompany the action. Just one pull, and  _boop_ , out of her body she was.

She looked down at her body, then met Bucky's gaze with apologetic eyes. Though her voice came out garbled and indistinct to him, he thought from the movement of her mouth that she  _was_  apologizing for how strange this all was.

Sure, he might bitch about it, but it wasn't like  _strange_  was anything new for any of them by now, was it?

* * *

Loki redirected her attention to the walls. She nodded at him and went immediately to work.

For what could have been hours, days, or mere seconds, Hermione wasn't even sure, she stared at the symbols, waiting for them to come into focus, for her mind to start shifting them about, as it had down before.

"Loki?"

He started at her calling his name. She'd been entranced so long, he thought he might well have nodded off in his astral form.

"Hermione?" He came to stand beside her, still marveling at her ability to understand these symbols—even with the sad price such an ability required.

Clearing her throat, she said, "I've deciphered it, I understand it _all_ , and . . . I've worked it out. The room will siphon our offerings  _as_  I cast the spell."

He nodded, swallowing hard. He supposed her and Bucky were  _more_ than a fair trade for this power, still, it was a little painful to know he was helping destroy the thing he'd been pursuing.

"I'll need to you pay close attention to me while I'm casting the spell. If I seem like I'm becoming listless, or shutting down, you'll need to step up your offering, because it will mean I've offered more than I can afford to keep functioning,  _or_  the room is taking what I'm offering too fast for me to keep up. Got it?"

Oh, he  _hated_  the sound of that, but again, Loki nodded.

Hermione drew a deep breath and let it out slow before launching into the spell.

* * *

After how long, he couldn't even be sure, the room shuddered around them and Bucky reflexively moved closer to their unconscious forms. "I really hope you guys are almost done in there," he said, ready to snatch up both of them and run at a moment's notice.

Shit, they were lucky the third part of their  _koblet tre_  turned out to be a super-soldier, he thought. He needed that facetious tone in his head to keep himself grounded, just now.

* * *

Hermione swayed on her feet, sending a thrill of fear through Loki. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, forcing some of his power through her, trying to sate the room's demand.

He could feel the brush of her mind against his, reaching out to him even as she continued reading the symbols.

_Almost there . . . just a few more seconds . . . . I can hold on._

Nodding, he shifted his hold on her, ready to  _throw_  her back into her body the moment she gave the word.

* * *

Bucky didn't like what he was seeing. It appeared Loki had to support Hermione just so she could stand. He  _knew_ that sacrificing part of their power shit would be trouble!

* * *

She lost her footing entirely, collapsing in Loki's arms, even as the room gave a violent shudder around them.

"Hermione!"

Blinking tiredly as she met his gaze, she gave a wan smile. "It's done."

He wasted no time hurtling her back toward her body.

* * *

Bucky snapped her up from the floor the second her astral form melted into her physical body. Loki drifted over, looking dazed, himself.

_You must carry us both, it seems,_  Bucky read him saying as the Asgardian toppled, collapsing into himself.

The ground beneath his feet shifted and rolled as he ducked, scooping up Loki. Then, as he turned, tossing Loki over his shoulder with Hermione tucked under his opposite arm, he realized . . . .

He had  _no_ idea which wall was the way out.


	29. Only You

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Only You

They had been gone so long—or maybe it was no time at all? It was hard to tell the passage of time, here, it felt like forever and the passing of mere seconds, all at once—that Thor honestly thought he might have drifted off, buried in his own thoughts.

The rumbling of the walls drew him from his stupor and he turned to watch the stone box of a room. The structure shuddered and trembled, sending tremors through the ground around it.

Wide-eyed, he looked over his shoulder. Indeed, the vibrations were running out into the rest of the ruins, causing them to shift and sway.

"Oh, I do not believe they meant for  _this_ to happen."

_"Thor!"_ His name was accompanied by a loud thudding from the other side of the wall.

"Bucky?!"

Another resounding thud—he got the distinct impression the other man was kicking wall. This was  _not_  good; Bucky was as strong as Steve, his strikes should have put a hole through the wall with ease.

_"I can't find the way out and this place is coming down around us!"_

"I think I remember. Hold on!"

Thor rushed to the portion of the room he'd seen Loki sink an arm through, but only found solid stone. "No good. I think it may have closed the entrance as part of its self-destruct process!"

_"Shit!"_

Another violent rumble passed through. Thor nodded as he fought to maintain his footing. "I should say."

He backpedaled, hefting Mjolnir.

* * *

Bucky stepped back, eyeing the wall. If he couldn't take it down alone, then maybe if they struck it from both sides at the same time they could—

_"I am going to need you to duck!"_

Bucky frowned, shaking his head. "What?" Had he misheard that? Thor had just told him to . . . . His eyes shot wide. "Oh, shit."

He all but threw Hermione's and Loki's unconscious bodies into the farthest corner. Curling over them, he braced himself.

The war hammer came flying through the wall, debris scattering everywhere. Bucky swallowed a groan at the chunks of very  _not-_ astral-reflection stone pelting his back. If he _ever_  met the people who constructed this damned room, he was murdering them.

"Not yet!"

Bucky looked up in time to see Mjolnir circling back, crashing around and spraying more stone across the room as it returned to Thor's hand.

The next thing he knew, Thor was pulling Loki out from beneath him.

"We have a problem."

Bucky scowled as he stood, lifting Hermione as he followed Thor from the room. " _Another_ one?"

Nodding, Thor shouted over his shoulder as he started running through the ruins. "There's a . . . chance I  _may_  have created a shockwave when I broke through the room."

"Which means?"

Thor was at least relieved the Midgardian was keeping pace with him, now that he'd caught up. "I do not know how to get back, only Loki does. We need to get them a safe distance from here  _before_ that wave bounces back and decimates these ruins."

Bucky groaned, even as they both pushed themselves to run faster. "I sort of hate you a little, right now."

"Yes?" Thor considered that a moment, and nodded. "Well, good. Now we are even!"

They could hear it. The thundering echo of the shockwave rolling back toward them rang in their ears and jarred their bones.

_Just a_ bit _further . . . ._

The tail-end of the wave's concussive force sent them both flying as it struck.

Bucky managed to keep hold of Hermione, turning to take the brunt of the impact as they landed in a heap on the ground. Thor was not so lucky. He lost his grip on his brother, only able to watch as Loki was ripped away from him.

He hit the ground, hard, and immediately scrambled to his feet. Thor did not wait for the pain to hit, nor for the final rumbles to quiet before he took off in the direction the wave had tossed the other Asgardian.

In a daze, Bucky lifted his head, spotting the other man rushing off, as fast as he could move on staggered footfalls.

"God, my head hurts . . . ."

Dropping his gaze to the witch in his arms, he managed to catch Hermione blinking her eyes open.

"Did it work, or is this what death feels like? Because it's wretched."

Sputtering an exhausted chuckle, Bucky hugged her to him. "No such luck," he said. "We're very much alive. You did it."

A smile that looked like a pained effort for how drained she was curved her lips. "Good. What about . . . Loki and Thor?"

Bucky pushed up to stand, still cradling her in his arms. "Over this way, somewhere." He started walking, hoping to hell he could count on what Thor had said about the  _koblet tre_  was accurate—that if something had happened to Loki, he and Hermione would feel it.

As long as they didn't feel that loss, there was a chance Loki had survived, too.

"There you are," he heard Thor's voice in the distance.

Holding in a pained groan, Bucky picked up his pace, hurrying toward them.

"Loki? Loki!"

By the time they reached the brothers, Thor was shaking the other Asgardian by his shoulders.

Bucky settled on his knees beside them. Hermione moved gingerly as she pulled herself out of his arms to sit beside Loki.

Pushing away Thor's hands with a gentle press of her fingers, she leaned over, putting her ear to Loki's chest. She thought her own heart would stop.

But then, there it was . . . . A soft, dull thudding.

She was so relieved, she thought she might collapse all over again. Even so, she said, "If you don't survive this, I will  _drag_  you back from the underworld and make you pay for dying on us."

"How dare you use my own threat against me."

Hermione lifted her head at that pained whisper to see Loki's green eyes had cracked open, just a sliver.

Bucky let himself fall back against the ground as he uttered a sound of pure contempt. "Told you we wouldn't be rid of him  _that_  easy."

Loki chuckled, only to wince and clear his throat. "Do  _not_  make me laugh right now, brute."

Thor looked at the three of them, in turn, as he'd done when they'd first entered the astral plane. "You three . . . make me grateful  _koblet tres_  are so rare."

Hermione put her head back down on Loki's chest and closed her eyes, letting herself drift off. At least until Loki was rested enough to see them all back to Avengers Tower.

* * *

Days later, Hermione and Bucky were awoken by a buzzing from the door of their quarters. They'd spent much of the time sleeping—she was still recuperating from the drain on her magic, and no one was in any rush to kick them out while she was still weak.

Loki, keeping his word—much to everyone's surprise—surrendered himself to the custody of the Avengers upon their return. And while there were still some sore feelings over Hermione and Bucky's initial deceit, things had considerably calmed.

Which was why they were so surprised to find a fuming Tony Stark at their door at three in the morning. That a disappointed Steve stood beside him did not bode well.

Hermione and Bucky exchanged a glance before asking in the same breath, "What?"

"Seriously?" Tony furrowed his brow as he let out a huffing breath. When they both appeared utterly,  _genuinely_ , clueless, he frowned and backpedaled, gesturing for them to step out. "C'mon, we'll show you."

Several minutes and flights of stairs later, Hermione and Bucky were staring at a screen on a console. The image of an empty detention cell stared back at them.

Again, the pair exchanged a bewildered look.

Hermione met Tony's gaze. "I don't understand. Where's—?"

"Where's Loki?" Tony nodded, pursing his lips. "Yeah, we were hoping  _you_  could tell  _us_."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "We haven't even spoken to him since you locked him up. Which _you_  should know, since you've been watching us like a hawk."

"Not like you two haven't given me reason!" Tony drew in a calming breath. "Well, I suppose it's an upside that we didn't tell Fury about this mess, yet. Shit. Okay, what about that  _koblet_ -thing? Can you find him?"

"It's not a homing beacon, Tony," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "We can tell if he's close, and whether or not he's dead or alive,  _maybe_  what he's feeling, but that's sort of it."

"So, you two _really_  don't know where he is?"

Bucky's shoulders slumped. He knew Steve had every reason to disbelieve anything he said about Loki, and he couldn't blame him, either. "We  _seriously_ don't have a clue."

"I can't believe we believed him." Tony was more exasperated with himself than he even was with these two. " _Loki_  gave us his word, and  _I_  believed him."

Hermione's brows pinched together as she said, "Well, he actually kept his word."

Steve and Tony turned confused gazes on her. Bucky wore an expression of a realization dawning as he caught her meaning.

"He gave his word that you could imprison him, and you  _did_." She shrugged. "He never said  _how long_  you could imprison him."

Tony set his jaw, but he had to admit, Loki played them on a technicality. And it was their own damned fault.

Steve shook his finger at the couple. "I think Loki's been a bad influence on you two if you can get his thinking so easily."

They at least had the decency to look abashed. Hanging their heads, Bucky and Hermione spoke at the same time. "We know."

* * *

Still, a few more days passed before Hermione had gained back enough strength that she received a clean bill of health. They bid their goodbyes—even with Tony's grumbling about keeping them there to see if they could lure Loki back—and left the tower.

Steve saw them off, pulling Bucky in for a hug he wasn't expecting after all that had happened.

Hermione watched the embrace, feeling a little lump in her throat at the show of friendship. Stepping up once they pulled apart, she planted a kiss on Steve's cheek—just as she had with Natasha, Clint, and Sam. Thor had gotten a veritable series of them, which was just a  _few_ more than Bucky had been comfortable with, but she considered the blond Asgardian a special case, so he let it slide.

"What are you two going to do?"

The pair exchanged a glance, before Hermione smiled. "We're going to figure it out as we go."

Bucky snickered, shaking his head. "Yeah, 'cause that's done  _so_ well for us, so far."

"Say what you will, Bucky Barnes" she said with a shrug, "life with me is an adventure."

With a chuckle at his friend's expense, Steve waved them off.

* * *

"This is weird," Hermione said after several minutes of peacefully strolling along, hand-in-hand with Bucky.

He nodded as he glanced around. Avengers Tower was getting smaller in the distance and the calm around them felt . . . uneasy after all this. "Yeah."

A strange little jolt coursed through both of them.

She stopped short, frowning as she lifted her beaded bag, and he halted beside her. Slipping her hand from his, she opened it and sank her arm inside to retrieve her map.

Hermione met his gaze and held it for a moment before unfolding the parchment. A spot of blinking red glared up at them.

A smirk curved his mouth in spite of himself. "Is that . . .  _what_ I think it is?"

Biting her bottom lip to hold in a grin, she nodded.

Bucky glanced around, again, as though someone might be watching, before he said, "Let's go find our Asgardian pain in the ass."


	30. Chapter 30

**Epilogue**

Three Months Later

Bucky stared out into the quiet stillness of the morning, letting a sigh rumble out of him. Camped out on the very edge of an astral tear, Hermione had crafted them a rather resplendent hunting lodge within another ridiculous little tent. Every so often, she slipped out into the real world to send letters to her friend, Harry, letting him know she was all right.

And, more importantly, that she was happy.

Even after weeks upon weeks of peace, they could not quite find equilibrium with the calm state of their lives. Equilibrium with one another, however? Bucky glanced back over his shoulder. Loki and Hermione were snoozing on the floor before the fireplace, all but lost amongst a nest of pillows.

A smirk curved his lips as he shook his head and returned his gaze to the horizon. _That_ balance had been much easier to happen upon, once they'd all stopped fighting it.

Still, as much as they enjoyed this . . . . That smirk shifted into a thoughtful frown as he gave another shake of his head. He could feel that it was not just him. Loki and Hermione, too, were getting a little stir-crazy with _so_ much calm surrounding them.

Bucky didn't hear the body shifting against the floor, or the footfalls coming toward him. He became aware of the presence at his back before the arms slid around his waist, elegant, long-fingered hands clasping before him.

With a second rumbling sigh, he let himself sink back against Loki. Bucky tilted his head to one side expectantly as Loki lowered his chin to rest in the crook of Bucky's neck.

"Your thoughts are troubled this morning."

Again, a thoughtful frown played on Bucky's lips as he shook his head. "Nah, just . . . restless, I guess. Too much solitude."

"I suppose it is a bit mind-numbing."

"And if I can say?" Bucky rested his arms over Loki's. " _This_ is still weird," he said with a chuckle.

"Yes, well," Loki started, amusement edging his tone, "lucky for us that 'weird' can also mean absolutely _phenomenal_."

A snore cut across the interior of the lodge, then. They turned in unison to look at the slumbering witch—who would swear she did _not_ snore! Or, at least, that she could not possibly snore to rival any pair of male lungs.

"What do you say we wake her pleasantly?"

"Hell, yeah. But it's my turn, you did it last time."

Loki smirked, mischief glimmering in his green eyes as he caught Bucky's chin in his hand. "All right. But . . . ." His gaze lowered to Bucky's lips as he traced over the soft, plump bit of flesh with tip of his finger. "You must do _this_ other thing for me."

Hiding a grin, Bucky sighed a final time and nodded. "Fair is fair."

* * *

Hermione awoke to the delicious abrasive tickle of Bucky's ever-present five o'clock shadow scratching against her throat. Stretching, she draped her arms around his neck before she even opened her eyes.

When she did, she noticed Loki leaned back from them, watching the display as Bucky's mouth captured hers in a hungry kiss. Bucky settled between her thighs as she nipped and suckled at his plunging tongue.

He broke the kiss and shifted lower against her, dragging his lips and the very edge of his teeth against her skin as he moved.

Opening her eyes, once more, albeit in a bit of a daze, this time, she dropped her gaze to watch his head as he moved down along her body. She reached out blindly, her hand finding Loki's lap.

With a warm, appreciative chuckle for her sleepy efforts, Loki guided her fingers to wrap around him and start moving in slow, lazy strokes. He leaned over, stealing a kiss of his own from her as Bucky flicked his tongue in a line, descending from her navel.

She felt the brush of Bucky's fingers over her, teasing and testing before he slipped them inside. Groaning, she broke Loki's kiss as she lifted her hips, meeting the delving of Bucky's hand.

God, she was _so_ ready it made how hard he was hurt. Withdrawing his hand—the sound of disappointment she uttered at that causing both men to chuckle—he grasped her hips. That first month had been a bit tricky with learning to control the strength of his metal arm in _these_ sorts of situations for which none of his training had prepared him, but after a few times of bruised bones and healing charms, he'd gotten the hang of it.

Sitting back on his heels, he shifted her against him. He positioned himself between her thighs, only to hold back. He watched her, her eyes had drifted closed again as she waited, her hand working over Loki, still. Loki, for his part, merely sat with his head tipped back, enjoying the moment. Bucky knew how she would respond to his entry, anyway, so he allowed a few seconds to tick by.

Finally, Hermione forced her eyes open to meet Bucky's. "Get on with it," she said in a breathless, pleading whisper.

Grinning, he thrust his hips, burying himself inside her.

She gasped, throwing her head back and rolling her hips to meet him. Reflexively relinquishing her grasp on Loki, she gripped her hands into the pillows on either side of her as she started rocked against Bucky's motions.

A smirk that made Loki damn proud curving his lips, Bucky crooked a finger at the Asgardian.

"I do enjoy it when you take charge."

Bucky shook his head, even while he shuddered at the way Hermione's body gripped him as she rocked against him. "Just shut up and get over here."

Chuckling, Loki moved to kneel beside Bucky.

Hearing the discussion over her own rushed and moaning breaths, Hermione forced open her eyes. Almost as delicious as the sensation of Bucky withdrawing and driving into her again and again was the sight of Loki and Bucky meeting in a savage, devouring kiss.

God, they were both _so_ damn beautiful . . . .

She forced herself to keep moving against Bucky as he got a bit distracted with being in the center of the activity. The sharp, jerking movements of his hips had her nearing the edge, fast.

Loki broke the kiss, gripping a hand into Bucky's hair as he rose up by increments. He dragged Bucky's mouth along his skin, moving down over his chest and abdomen, and lower, still, until Loki was on his feet.

Hermione sank her teeth into her bottom lip, biting back a moan as she watched Loki slide himself into Bucky's mouth. Almost immediately, his head fell back and he let out a groan as he started rocking his hips, accommodating the other man's suckling pulls.

She lost herself to that moment—to the gorgeous sight of them before her and the sweet, heated tension of her muscles going taut and her body clenching tight around Bucky's thrusts. Forcing her eyes to stay open, she kept her gaze on them all the while as she came.

For several blissful seconds, nothing else existed but the pleasure spiraling through her and the hungry sounds Bucky was uttering as he drew on Loki; nothing else but the way Loki gasped and dropped his head, his fingers tightening mercilessly in their grip on Bucky's hair.

As her orgasm ebbed, she felt Bucky's motions becoming erratic. He was close . . . and from the way Loki shuddered even as he jerked his hips, forcing himself through Bucky's lips faster, she knew he was, too.

Poor Bucky was probably having a hell of a time concentrating on both of them.

Shifting, even as sweet aftershocks rippled through her, Hermione lifted herself to straddle Bucky's lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders for leverage, moving against him as he stilled in that final, wonderfully hard thrust.

Burying her face in his neck, she lapped and suckled at the skin there as she rocked over him. Only when she was certain he'd spent himself, entirely, did she slow. Though, she waited for his pained groan before she stopped, entirely.

 _And just in time, too_ , she thought, a wicked giggle edging the words in her mind. As she lifted her head from Bucky's throat, Loki froze. She stared up at him, unblinking as he let out a series of gasping breaths, his hands clutching at Bucky's head, helpless.

After what almost seemed too long, Bucky eased back. He allowed Loki to slip from between his lips with a dazed expression on his face.

As Bucky struggled to catch his breath, he said, "I . . . I love being in the middle, but I sometimes think you two just might kill me."

Loki and Hermione shared a snicker at that, even as the witch pulled them both down onto the pillows to cuddle with her.

After their pulses had slowed, and their breathing had steadied, she brought up a subject they'd decided to shelve sometime last month, but had yet to approach, again.

"I'm still worried about the future."

Both males groaned in unison.

She laughed and shook her head. "No, seriously. I know we're enjoying living in the moment, and that's fine for now. But, I'm  _only_ a witch, and while I'll have a very long life by  _human_  standards, you're Asgardian—"

"Untrue! I am—"

"A Frost Giant, yes, shut up." She ignored Bucky's snicker at her admonishment. "You _are_ an exceptionally long-lived alien. Bucky is a super-soldier whose cellular regeneration means he's going to outlive me, as well. You know what'll happen to the remaining two, what life will be like, if one of us dies. I don't want to leave you two to that fate, if I can help it."

God, she never would have thought there would come a day when she would wish the secret of creating the Sorcerer's Stone had not died with Nicholas Flamel and Dumbledore.

"You know . . . ." Loki tapped a finger against his chin as he thought. "Now that I am thinking on it, I do seem to recall hearing of an artifact that grants its bearer an exceedingly long life."

He waited a moment, catching each of their gazes, in turn, before he tacked on, "But the search for it could be . . .  _rather_ dangerous."

Bucky and Hermione exchanged a glance before answering in the same breath, "We're listening."

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for taking this journey with me!
> 
> Your support & love for this story (and this triad) has meant the world to me.


End file.
